


Our First Valentine's Day

by flipfloppandas



Series: Our Firsts [3]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipfloppandas/pseuds/flipfloppandas
Summary: 14 drabbles about Goten and Trunks' first Valentine’s Day. Sequel to Our First December.





	1. Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> COUPLE OF THINGS TO NOTE: This story won’t be like the other ones. It will be much shorter, and any plot/conflict will be very light. This will genuinely be a drabble story.
> 
> ALSO: Over all, I am pleased with this story. There probably won’t be any major plot changes.
> 
> You guys know the drill. Updates everyday (hopefully) and a minimum of 500 words.
> 
> *You should probably read 'Our First Summer' and ‘Our First December’ if you haven't before reading this story, or you will get confused*
> 
> ALSO NOTE: In Japan, Valentine’s Day is typically when girls give presents (chocolates mainly) to boys, who then respond with their own gift one month later on White Day.

#1- Diamonds

Word Count: 1589

* * *

“Trunks, I feel as though your anxiety is unwarranted.”

“I’m not anxious, Goten.”

“Really? Forgive me for not believing you, but if you bounce your foot any harder you might bring the place down around us, babe.”

Trunks scowled and stilled his foot, which had nearly left cracks in the innocent tile. His body was still strung tight, arms crossed stiffly over his chest, and eyebrows drawn down so hard that a headache was brewing.

“Trunks, I really think you’re worked up over nothing.”

“I’m not worked up, Goten. Now leave me alone.”

Despite his physical appearance, he can assure you that he is not anxious, or worked up, or annoyed, or any other synonym of that. If he _was_ annoyed, it would be because of how _long_ this all was taking. How long did it take to get rings cut, anyway? Perhaps this is what he gets for waiting until the last minute. He probably wouldn’t be this “seemingly” worked up had this been done months ago.

Months... it has been quite a few months. It has been a whole two years, in fact. It didn’t feel like it had been two years since the day Goten got down on one knee and proposed with a Ki-filled diamond on Trunks’ favorite bridge in Trunks’ favorite country, and yet, it was. Forgive him for being cliché, but it truly felt like it was only yesterday. Despite his disbelief, it had, in fact, been a very eventful two years.

Two years in which Trunks turned twenty, and Goten nineteen.

Two years in which Goten left his mother’s house and Trunks left his dorm for a small apartment that Goten paid one-third of the rent on and was a ten-minute walk away from his university.

Two years in which Goten decided that since cooking was the only skill he had (Trunks fervently corrected that to the skill he was _best_ at, not the only), and he enjoyed it, he would enroll himself into online culinary classes to become a chef, and while it was not exactly the post-secondary education Chi-Chi was hoping for, Goten was happy enough that she left well enough alone.

Two years since Trunks decided he would graduate early—six months from today—and take over as the head of Capsule Corporations in the months that followed.

Two years for Japan (and much of the surrounding area) to suddenly decide that since the heir to Capsule Corporations was super cute, super gay, and super getting married, his life absolutely _needed_ to be covered intensively by the media, never mind the fact that Trunks couldn’t remember if there had ever been a time that someone outside of West City actually knew or cared who he was.

Two years for the two of them to enlighten their family and loved ones of the engagement, thankfully before nosy news-reporters could.

Two years for them to pick a date. February 14th. Saint Valentine’s Day.

Trunks initially thought that that was an odd date for them to get married on. Aside from the fact that most people typically got married in the spring, Trunks figured that Goten would want their wedding date—which would ultimately become their anniversary—to be, well... special. Or at the very least, not shared with a national holiday.

Goten, however, was more than happy to explain the reasoning behind his choice, and then it made sense... at least, as much sense as anything Goten could think up can.

Years ago, when their relationship was still a bit new, Goten had joked about making Valentine’s Day chocolate for him. After a laugh and a quick reminder that Goten was not his girlfriend, and thus had no reason to make Trunks chocolate, the issue was dropped. Goten did not seem to mind and neither did he; after all, while their Valentine's Days were uneventful, their White Days were thriving with twice the amount of gifts given.

It would seem that Trunks was wrong about Goten's indifference, seeing as how apparently Goten cared enough about the stupid holiday to have his wedding on it, thus forcing Trunks to celebrate it with him.

Whatever, it’s all good. There are certainly worse days that he could be getting married on.

Then again, many of those days weren’t a couple of weeks from now...

Now the big question, of course, is why they were only just now getting the rings for the ceremony, literally _days_ before the wedding, despite the two long years beforehand for preparations. Trunks is ashamed to say that there was not really a proper answer. Aside from his classes, he hadn’t really been busy, not like he was now. Trunks wasn’t really picky about the particulars of the wedding and was more than happy to let his mother, Chi-Chi, and Goten takeover. Aside from the color theme, he had next to no idea what was going to be happening at the wedding. Being as that was the case, one would think that with how much free time that gave him, it should have been relatively easy for his photographic memory to remember his _own fucking ring_.

He hadn’t though, hence why he was here, waiting beside the brightly-lit glass counter at the best jeweler he could find on such short notice.

All these months and he had not even _thought_ about it. That was mainly because, well, as embarrassing as it was to admit, he had simply _forgotten_ he would need one. In his defense, ever since this all began, there had been no rings, just a diamond.

His diamond (Trunks referred to it has ‘his’ because there was no way Goten loved it as much as he did) hardly ever left the house—it was too big to carry, and it looked awkward as a necklace. Instead, for the past several months, the jewel sat in a holder on the top of their dresser in their bedroom, hardly taking up any space and yet always drawing attention. Sometimes at night, he would find himself watching the gem—shiny, glittering swirls seeming so dim against the expanse of the dark room, yet still so bright in the ways that counted. Trunks felt quite a few different things about the diamond; he thought a lot of things about it too. Sometimes when he was in a particularly solemn mood, he found himself thinking about how Goten, the idiot, nearly killed himself to get it for him, for reasons that Trunks pampered mind would never be able to understand (they could have just bought one!). Most of the time, though, he thought of the energy that flowed inside of it—still as radiant as the day it was created. The diamond was a confession; a testament; a proposal. The diamond was also a mix of the two of them—energies that flowed in one space; in one creation. Like a baby, only much flashier and much less whiny.

Perhaps Goten had not meant for his little spur of the moment concoction to be taken so seriously, but it was, it was very serious to Trunks. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t agreed to convert the gem. His diamond wouldn’t just be a diamond anymore; it would be two diamond-encrusted rings. It would still be the same creation, only so much more different.

Maybe that’s why he was a little nervous—so nervous that in his impatience he forgot to acknowledge the fact that they there were actually a bit early for the pick-up, hence the long wait. He’s nervous because what if it’s damaged? There are so many ways an average diamond cutter, who obviously does not have the same fondness for the gem, could harm it. What if he doesn’t like the rings? What if he should have listened to his head and kept his precious diamond safe on the dresser, and just bought new rings? Why had he put it off for so long?

“Hey, look at me,” Trunks had forgotten he was even there. Goten, who had insisted on accompanying Trunks to the jeweler, and had been insufferably and almost unusually calm these passed few months.

Trunks trailed his eyes over, and despite his tension, welcomed the hand that slid into his.

Once Goten was satisfied with the attention, he leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. Goten had grown taller these past two years; their height differences were almost noticeable now. The difference wasn’t so great that Trunks felt he had to be annoyed about it just yet.

“Stop worrying, the rings will be great.” He hated when Goten did that—read his mind like it was a book instead of his fucking _mind_.

 “Yeah well, they damn well better be,” Trunks replied, but still he relaxed, releasing the tight coils of his muscles as he focused on the thumb that was rolling circles on the back of his hand. It’s amazing how Goten can calm him down with something as insignificant as words and a hand massage, but Trunks is thankful enough not to complain.

“Sorry for the wait, sirs,” the bubbly bench jeweler suddenly exclaims, somehow managing to suddenly materialize behind the counter with a black box in hand, “but your rings are ready!”

It is official. His diamond is gone.

Trunks takes a deep breath and backs away from Goten. He welcomes the comforting hand on his waist as he opens the little black box, bracing himself for the sight of his diamond now tampered with, destroyed, utterly ruined.

Only they aren’t ruined. “They’re perfect.”


	2. Teddy Bears

#2- Teddy Bears

Word Count: 1365

* * *

 

"Mr. Brief, I must insist that you allow me to deliver the meal to Mr. So—"

"No, Zareh, I'll only be a minute, I promise," Trunks assured, trying not to roll his eyes as he stepped out of the limousine. Out the corner of his eye he saw his new assistant—a very tall, Sudanese man in his late twenties—nod his head in understanding before he continued on his way. He liked Zareh—Trunks was not even an official member of the company and already Zareh was doing a much better job than even his mother's assistant, but gods could he be overbearing. Trunks was aware that he was quite busy today, but he was certain he had enough time for just a quick visit. Two days was a long time to go without seeing your fiancé.

So onward he walked, crossing through the automatic doors of the mall. On his way he pointedly ignored the stores covered in red flowers and hearts, and the girls who were unashamedly ogling him, until he reached the escalator that would take him to the lowest floor in the building. All the while he was holding a dyno-caps container, filled with the sandwiches that Goten had left on their kitchen counter that morning.

(In hindsight, Zareh was completely right about how inconvenient it was for Trunks to leave his rather numerous duties simply to deliver a forgetful Son his food when there was a perfectly functional food court just down the hall, but it was like he said, two days was a long enough time and he would take any excuse he could get.)

A few steps off the escalator and he was there. Yellow walls, a giant bear face, and blue letters stating: 'BUILD-A-BEAR WORKSHOP' stared down at him. He wasn't even inside yet, and he could already tell that every animal on every display case would be in some form of pink or red.

Trunks crossed into the store, almost immediately catching the eye of one of Goten's coworkers. He nearly tripped over a child on his way towards to her, making her giggle.

"Hey, Nathalie, do you know where Goten is?" he asked, raising his voice over the noise.

"I think he's working the cash register!" she called back.

He nodded and set off again. Once again, a child crossed unexpectedly in front of him, only this time, the little boy fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Trunks exclaimed, stooping down to lift the boy back onto his feet. The kid didn't even seem to notice the fact that his face had just smashed into the floor, as he was already running off, becoming lost in the sea of others who were around his miniature height.

Then it hit him why the store was so noisy. The place was _packed_. Sure, he had seen the workshop busy before, but nothing ever at this scale. There were people everywhere, their arms stuffed full of brightly-colored and heart-patterned animals.

There were so many _kids_.

That was to be expected of course, given that this was not only a toy shop, but a 'build your own' toy shop. Even still, he was quite frankly flabbergasted by the sheer number of three-foot-tall creatures surrounding him. They were all full of smiles and laughter—laughter so loud it was already beginning to grate on his nerves and he hadn't even been in here longer than two minutes. How could Goten put up with this for hours on end?

Oh right, the fool loved kids. All you had to do was look at him and instantly know that he was the kind of guy who had the genders and names of all his future children already picked out. Knowing him, he probably wanted like seven.

Suddenly, Trunks felt something funny and unpleasant bloom in his chest because seven? _Seven_?

Okay, maybe not seven, but definitely more than one.

That was way more than Trunks could even think of right now.

Trunks would be lying if he said he was particularly fond of children. He just wasn't. Aside from his sister and occasionally Pan, kids never even crossed his mind. Aside from the conventional thoughts of them being far off in his future, after he was settled in his career, was married, etc., he never gave them much thought.

Well, he supposed he had too now. If he allowed himself to think about it, they really weren't as far off in his future as he'd like to think.

No. He didn't have to. He was going to be soon married, yes, but that didn't mean they were having kids _now_. Goten was still considered a teenager for kami's sake! Sure, he can accept the fact that he shouldn't completely ignore the topic, but he didn't have to think so hard on it right this very second. They weren't having kids any time soon—that he was sure of.

But they would eventually, huh? At this point, he could not even hide behind the excuse of 'waiting until marriage', because soon he _would_ be married and it would no longer be a matter of propriety, but rather simply of convenience.

He was suddenly struck with the urge to leave, and only the fact that he was still holding the food capsules kept him from bolting. It's been so long since he's been overwhelmed like this, and he would rather deal with the effects of its unexpected intensity when he wasn't surrounded by the six-year olds that caused it.

He found Goten easily. He was manning the cash register just as expected, a smile on his face making him look even more adorable in his uniform as he rung up the bill for an elderly customer. His English had improved greatly after living in the states for so long. It was such a shame; Trunks missed making fun of him in words he didn't understand.

Trunks waited until the woman was finished with her purchase before circling behind the counter. Goten's smile brightened even more.

"Hey, babe!" Trunks was pulled into a hug. "Thanks for bringing the sandwiches. You're a lifesaver!"

"You're welcome," Trunks stated, guilty that he could only return the hug half-heartedly.

"Are you okay?" Goten questioned, his brows dipping in concern.

"Oh, yeah I'm fine, it's just... there are a lot of kids today..." Trunks said. It was the truth.

Goten chuckled, and his smile turning to a fond one that had Trunks' unpleasant feelings deepening as he stared out at the children surrounding one of the stuffing machines. "Yup, it's pretty hectic but it definitely makes working more fun."

Oh, of _course_ he would say that.

"If you say so," Trunks pulled free from the hug. "As much as I would love to stay and chat about snot-nosed brats, I've got to get back to work before Zareh comes to breathe down my ear again. Enjoy your lunch." He turned to go.

"Ah, wait! I got something for you."

Trunks reluctantly turned back. He watched as Goten kneeled and dug around the inside of the counter.

It was a few moments later when Goten popped back up, a bright grin on his face as he held out his arms. In his outstretched hands was a tan-colored teddy bear with a blue ribbon tied around its neck.

"As a thank-you for the lunch delivery: a baby for my baby!"

Trunks blinked a few times, staring at the smiley-faced animal and wondered why he was so surprised by it. It wasn't the first bear Goten had given him, but this time given his mental circumstances...

He takes the bear, and mutters: "You really are annoying."

"Annoyingly lovable?"

One day, they would come in here, and it wouldn't be for a work shift or a lunch delivery.

Alright, he's seen his Goten, and now it's time to go.

"Goodbye, Goten," Trunks says, kissing the happy Son quickly on his lips. Hoping a bit belatedly that no one noticed, he turned and made a beeline for the door, his new bear tucked protectively under his arm.

He's proud to say that he only stumbled over two kids on the way out.


	3. Cards

#3- Cards

Word Count: 885

* * *

 

The only excuse Goten could offer was that he was _extremely_ bored.

Boredom was not something that was new to him, contrary to popular belief. As easily entertained as he was, it was pointless when there was absolutely _nothing_ to entertain him. His job was not entertaining, seeing as how for the past few days he worked the midday shift, when most children were at school and their parents at work. Video games also were not entertaining, seeing as how he was stuck on a rather difficult level, and thus needed to embark on a mandatory break to prevent him from harming the system beyond repair. Not even Trunks could entertain him, seeing as how he was too busy attending classes, and doing homework from those classes, and traveling to the other side of the world to attend meetings with his mother, and doing _homework_ from those meetings with his mother. Goten was used to this of course, and normally he could suffer through his periods of boredom with minimal complaint.

However, three whole days with absolutely _nothing_ to do? This could not stand.

And so, he promptly fixed his situation by having a quick visit with Erana—Tyrese’s girlfriend and his new friend—the night before.

Once Goten broke the language barrier, he found that he liked Erana rather much. She was short, but somehow seemed to capture your attention with every word she said. She was also smart, and did not need to use big, confusing words to be so.

More importantly though, she was funny, and there was no better trait than a good sense of humor in Goten's book.

“You’re giving him a card?” he had asked her.

“Yup, I sure am. Here, read it.”

 _‘Help, I’ve fallen for you and I can’t get up.’_ There was a horizontal elderly lady on the card.

“Very romantic,” he told her, snickering.

 “Well, Tyrese is a sucker for humor—romantic humor is even better. I figured it would cheer him up. I’ve been busy so we couldn’t hang out, and he’s been pretty bummed out about it.”

Trunks was busy.

Goten was bummed out.

The solution became quite obvious.

_‘Is your name Wi-Fi? Because I’m feeling the connection.’_

The first card had gone directly to the man himself, just as he was leaving for his afternoon classes.

“Cute,” Trunks said sarcastically, but rewarded him with an extra sweet goodbye kiss.

Trunks was probably far from kisses and closer to homicide by now, but that’s what was fun about it! If one card was entertaining, then _more_ than one would be even better!

So of course, that’s what Goten did.

The next one Trunks should have found in the front compartment of his backpack, while he was pulling out his wallet for the coffee he would buy at the _Starbucks_ just outside the campus.

 _‘I’d love you even if you were so ugly that everybody died.’_ This was accompanied by a picture of Patrick Star from _Spongebob Squarepants_. Goten died when he read it, and thusly had to share his mirth with his beloved.

The next one would be _inside_ Trunks’ wallet, folded up neatly next to his cash.

 _‘You’re the only naked man I’d want to see.’_ This one was with the face of Mulan in the lake. You didn’t think he’d miss out on the opportunity to make it _sexy,_ did you?

 _‘Is there a phone in your back pocket? Because I swear, I hear that ass calling me.’_  He would notice this one in his back pocket once he sat down.

_‘If I were endoplasmic reticulum, how would you want me: smooth or rough?’_

_‘You can call me Nemo because I’m not afraid to touch the butt.’_

_‘With you around, Pride Rock isn’t the only thing that’s hard.’_ And of course, his wonderful cards ended off with _The Lion King_ , Goten’s favorite Disney movie.

Presently, Goten was half on the couch and half on the floor, dying from laughter. Oh, what he would give to see Trunks’ _face_ right now! All day he must’ve been finding cards, embarrassingly hiding the messages from his friends, all while cursing Goten’s existence. Hilarious!

As suggestive as his cards had been, he probably earned himself a depressingly sexless night, but gods dammit it was _worth_ it.

Goten was still laughing as he righted himself and walked down the hallway towards their bedroom. Trunks would no doubt be calling him soon, and Goten wanted to be in the most comfortable position possibly for the hysterical fit that would no doubt befall him once again.

Of course, it was then that he met with the white envelope resting on top of one of the pillows.

There was no way...

 _‘I could say you aren’t sexy, but I’d be lion.’_ A picture of Simba joined the words. Goten flipped the card over, amazed that even in the simplest of situations, Trunks could always stay one step ahead of him.

_‘So, you can hakuna my tatas anytime you want.’_

XXX

Hours later found Trunks standing in the hallway outside of their apartment, smiling as he read the card that was inside of the white envelope he’d found taped on their front door.

_‘If I had a star for every time you made me smile, I’d be holding the galaxy.’_


	4. Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble contains sexual content.

#4- Hugs

Word Count: 999

* * *

 

“Goten, can you please watch this in the bedroom?”

Goten turned away from the dazzling wedding dress projected on the television screen. “Why do you always get so weird when I watch this show?”

“ _Why_ do you watch this show?”

“Maybe I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Alright, don’t get mad when I expect you to wear the dress I buy you,” Trunks said, his eyes not meeting Goten's once. “I don’t care that you’re watching it, but it’s hard to focus with ‘do you say: _Yes to the Dress?_ ’ ringing in my ear every two minutes.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, turning down the volume. He’d lost interest in the over-priced dresses, anyway.

He turned to regard his beloved. To say that Trunks was exhausted was an understatement. His body was slumped; his normally impeccable hair was scruffy and un-brushed; his leg was bouncing tirelessly; his eyes were red and baggy behind his glasses as they stared down at the opened binders and textbooks and papers covering the coffee table. _Awful_ was not exactly a nice word, but it was probably the most accurate.

His state of being hadn't been caused by his homework alone, but rather his _business_ work. As far as Goten could tell, Bulma had been dumping more and more work on him as of late—“extra practice”, Trunks called it.

Trunks stood to his feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“Practice” be damned. He knew Trunks’ work was important, but as far as Goten was concerned, his baby’s health ranked far higher.

“Trunks, you’ve been working for hours, take a break,” Goten said from the kitchen archway.

“I’m still hours away from being done,” Trunks replied. “I don’t have time for breaks.”

“Sure, you do,” Goten said, pulling Trunks away from the coffee machine and wrapping his arms around his waist tightly. “Come on, Trunks, just a _little_ break. One measly movie can’t hurt.”

“ _Yes_ , Goten, it can.”

“No, it can’t...” Goten trailed off, leaning in to plant a kiss.

He was quite surprised when his lips met nothing but air, and his body was stumbling forward from the sudden lack of support. It made a lot of sense, however, when he turned his head to the side, and saw Trunks standing very much not in his arms and making his way out of the kitchen.

“Trunks,” Goten said lowly, warningly.

The man in question turned his head and stuck out his tongue, before disappearing past the wall.

Well, then bring it, bitch.

Goten took off, nearly slipping on the tiles as he sped out of the kitchen, his eyes locked on Trunks’ quickly retreating form as he chased him into the living room. They were both on either side of the couch, one trying to catch and the other trying to flee. Goten’s look of determination was a complete contrast to Trunks’ giddy smile, his blue eyes brighter in this little moment than they had been in all the past few hours.

Goten braced a hand against the back of the couch and leap over it, just as Trunks was running to the other side, thus setting them off again. He was surprised that Trunks ran into the bedroom, given that there was no place in there to hide. Not that he was complaining, especially not when he succeeded in tackling Trunks to the bed.

They wrestled, rolling around and gripping at each other in any attempt to win. Goten got his hands on a pillow and knocked it repeatedly over Trunks’ head, hopping to beat the other into submission, but it was to no avail, as Trunks somehow managed to straddle him, pinning his arms to his sides with his legs.

Trunks was breathing hard, and his words were stained with his obvious amusement, “I’m busy.”

“You’re busy,” Goten repeated.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” he punctuated each word by getting closer, his lips nearly touching Goten’s on the last one.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone,” he nods.

Trunks watched him for another second, before lifting his knee to swing off him. It was a mistake however, as Goten’s newly freed arm hooked around Trunks’ waist, and flipped him onto his back. He grabbed both of Trunks wrists and pinned them above his head.

“— _After_ I’ve had my way with you.”

Trunks squirmed under the lips against his neck. “You’re such a cheater.”

Goten blew against the bit of wetness he left on Trunks’ neck as he nudged his knee between his legs, spreading them apart. “I think that whoever said, ‘cheaters never win’, were just salty that they didn’t get the prize.”

He’s not sure how many kisses he’s left all over Trunks’ face and neck, but he knows it’s enough to have Trunks tugging his hands free to pull him closer. Trunks’ sweatpants are thin, but Goten still pulls them down before grinding his hips into the body beneath him.

Trunks is shuddering and moaning with each roll. One of his legs wound around Goten’s waist and tugged him down harder. His arms however are wrapped tight around Goten’s back, making him incapable of leaving even if he wanted too. The thing about embracing was, as tight as this hold was, it was no closer than the rather simple hug in the kitchen. Bodies could only be _so_ close to each other.

 It _feels_ closer, though, and that’s all Goten can think about when his body shudders one last time.

Goten rolls to the side as he catches his breath. It’s a rather long time in strange silence before he realizes that Trunks actually fell asleep. He’s surprised that Trunks managed to keep such a tight grip on him even while unconscious, and he makes sure to keep his amused laughter to a quiet chuckle.

Trunks will be annoyed that Goten didn’t wake him up and will undoubtedly force himself back to work once he does. Goten would do his best not to distract him then, but for now, he would hold him while he slept, and entertain himself with the idea of actually getting married in a dress.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: he doesn’t get married in a dress.


	5. Dates

#5- Dates

Word Count: 1317

* * *

 

Trunks cursed under his breath as he struggled to maneuver through the busy streets of Birmingham. He was late—not terribly so, but late all the same. It’s a wonder how he could even _be_ late, given the fact that he literally _flew_ here, but contemplating it does not get him there faster.

It’s only a few minutes later when he spots the familiar cafe across the street. Once the cars in the road stop, he speed-walks to the other sidewalk, and pushes the door of the cafe open and out of his way. His eyes quickly scan the tables and booths, hoping but failing to find the person he was looking for.

“Well, if it isn’t Blue-eyes.”

Trunks rolled his apparently infamous blue eyes and smiled. His gaze followed the direction of the sound, catching on the familiar head of blond-brunet hair.

He slides into the empty chair. “It's good to see you too, Cayon.”

The male across from him had changed, but not drastically so. His multi-colored hair was longer, still flopping around his face in almost graceful waves. He had grown these past years of course, even more than Goten had (much to the Son's chagrin). His face had lost all of its teenage charm and was chiseled to a gorgeous sharpness that only a man could obtain. His tanned skin was clear as always, and his brown eyes were as smug as his grin.

Trunks had always been more a fan of black hair and goofy grins, but he would be lying if he said Cayon wasn’t pretty damn attractive.

It has been awhile since he’d seen pretty much his only other close male friend. They didn’t have much a chance to see each other, of course, considering they were hardly ever even on the same continent.

Still, going a whole month and not seeing his best man? That was damn near appalling.

Goten had been predictably annoyed at Trunks’ choice in best man, but tastefully did not put up much protest. Trunks did not have an older brother (Gohan being Goten’s choice), and the only other person he was as close to as Goten and Cayon was Marron, and well, she was a fifteen-year-old girl.

Not that Trunks regretted his choice; he doubted that there had ever been a better best man in any other western-style wedding in history than Cayon. Despite the fact that Cayon was busy with his own studies (in Europe, no less), he still managed to get Trunks fitted for his tux, organized a bachelor party, kept complete track of all the other groomsmen, confirmed the honeymoon travel arrangements, and even consulted with Bulma and Chi-Chi for anything he could do for extra help. Cayon had been amazing through all of this, and Trunks wouldn’t change his decision for anything.

“So,” Cayon started after the waiter took their orders, “how is the fiancé?”

‘The fiancé’. Once upon a time ago, Goten had simply been ‘the boyfriend’.

“He’s fine,” Trunks said absently, “but I’m more interested in hearing about your redheaded twink.”

“Eh, Jeff isn’t really _my_ redheaded twink anymore.”

Trunks’ brow dipped. “You guys broke up?”

“Yeah, last week. Don’t look at me like that Trunks, I wasn’t even that into him anyway.” He waved him off. “But don’t think I didn’t notice your dismissive reply. Is there a dark cloud in your _Son-shine_ that you aren’t telling me about?”

Trunks rolled his eyes. At least he wasn’t calling him ‘Go-Go’ anymore. “No, my days are still as shiny as ever.”

“So, you’re saying there isn’t a problem? No reason for me to whisk you off your feet and take you away?”

Trunks swirled his spoon in the tea the waiter had brought him. “Well, I wouldn’t say there was a _problem…_ ”

Cayon arched his brow.

Trunks sighed and reminded himself that Cayon was one of the few people he could tell anything too.

“Just… well… do you think we're moving too fast?”

“Too fast?”

Trunks nodded.

Cayon brushed his chin with his fingers and gave Trunks a thoughtful look. “Do you want _my_ answer, or the one you want to hear?”

“ _Cayon_.”

“Alright, alright, what makes you think you’re moving too fast?”

“Well it’s not necessarily that I think that… I just, I don’t know, I can’t get it out of my head. I mean, I’m twenty years old, in the middle of transitioning from college to running the biggest company in the world all while planning for my _wedding_ , and to top it all off, we got engaged a _day_ after what was nearly a romantically-fatal fight.” Trunks finished his rant by brushing a hand tiredly over his face. “Nothing about what I just said was normal.”

“I hate to break it to you, Trunks, but you’ve never been normal.”

Trunks peered up with a small smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Really, though, what do you think?”

“Trunks, you know I’m biased,” Cayon said shamelessly, sipping his beverage. “As far as I’m concerned you should’ve ditched Son-shine the day he said he liked yellow _Starburst_. I mean, really? _Ew_.”

“ _Cayon_ ,” Trunks said for a second time in exasperation, mainly because he knew that he really meant it. It baffled him that the two of them hated each other even when they were kids. Trunks didn’t even know that seven-year olds _could_ hate each other.

“Okay, look, if you’re that bothered by it that you’re having second thoughts, then why don’t you just talk to him? Weren't you doing that thing where you actually talked about your problems now?”

Trunks huffed, embarrassed at the reminder of his previous behavior. “I’m not having second thoughts! I want to marry him, I really, really do. These are just harmless doubts, which is why I can’t bring them up because then _he’s_ going to think I’m having second thoughts and just... _ugh_.” He completed his groan by collapsing dramatically over the tabletop.

“Alright, Trunks, I’ll just pretend we aren’t talking about Son-shine and give you an honest answer,” Cayon folded his hands and donned a more serious expression. “Is it weird that he chose to propose a day after you guys almost broke up? Yes, and I don’t blame you for feeling rushed. However, given the fact that you guys waited two years and have that whole childhood friends trope or whatever going on, someone from the outside looking in might wonder why you guys are moving so _slow_. Time is relative that way—it only matters if you decide it matters.”

Cayon took another sip of his drink. “Also, you should keep in mind that you can want to marry him and not have to do it _now_. You’ve got all the time in the world, buttercup.”

Trunks thought about it and shook his head. “I don't think I want to wait, and I doubt doing so will change my mind. Whether it’s a week or a year from now, I’m always going to overthink things, huh?”

“Probably,” Cayon agreed cheekily.

Trunks sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His thoughts didn't change but he did feel a bit better. “Thanks for listening to me. I’m sorry I dumped all my relationship problems on you.”

Cayon smirked and leaned further across the table. “You could make it up to me by making this the best date of my life, _babe_.”

Trunks quirked his brow in amusement. “You and Goten would get along much better if you rethought your word choices.”

Cayon sniffed. “It’s not my fault he can’t handle my charm.”

Trunks laughed. “Speaking of your ‘charm’, there must be someone who’s caught your eye by now. I know you've moved on from Jeff by now.”

“Who’s Jeff, again?” Cayon tilted his head in mock-confusion, before launching into a tale about a cute Malaysian girl in his physics class. Trunks leaned back in his seat and listened full-heartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birmingham is in England btw.


	6. Chocolate

#6- Chocolate

Word Count: 1654

* * *

 

The moment Trunks stepped out of the stairwell and onto their floor, he smelled something deliciously sweet. His mood lightened instantly, and he suddenly couldn’t get to their apartment fast enough.

Enrolling in cooking classes had to be one of the best choices Goten had ever made. Not _once_ since they had moved in together has Trunks had a bland or subpar meal. Every dish Trunks came home too was either super exotic, or so intricate that just looking at the steps involved made even _his_ head spin. Even the dishes Trunks didn’t care for were too amazing to waste. Goten had a gift that most definitely rivaled his mother’s, and Trunks didn’t think he’d ever meet another person who could cook as well as she could. In terms of a future spouse, Trunks thinks he's hit the jackpot.

He was curious as to what would greet him today even more so than usual. ‘Sweet’ was not really something Trunks was used to smelling around dinnertime, but he was excited all the same.

The moment he opened the door, the rich scent hit him harder and became immediately recognizable.

Chocolate.

Confused, Trunks discarded his backpack and went to investigate. He found Goten washing his hands in the kitchen sink, surrounded by bowls and utensils dirtied by brown mix and powders. Trunks held back a giggle at the white apron tied around his body. Goten’s domestication was rather adorable.

Once their customary greeting and welcome home kiss was through, Trunks asked, “What’s all this?”

“I made homemade chocolate,” Goten answered.

Trunks examined a spoon and debated licking the mix off of it. “Any particular reason why?”

“My dad asked me too. He’s coming to pick them up tomorrow morning.”

Trunks quirked his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah, he wanted to do something special for my mom. I bet you ten bucks she’s probably pissed at him over something.” Goten gestured with a nod over his shoulder. “Go look; they’re on the counter.”

Trunks looked towards the counter and was abruptly shocked by what he was met with. The box was huge, red, and in the shape of a heart. Despite its size, the many brown treats were packed in tightly, and yet still managed to look neat. What surprised him the most was the _multitude_ of different chocolate treats. There were plain ones, and iced ones, and frosted ones, and ones drizzled smartly with sauce. Some had sprinkles, others were powdered, and some even had crumbles on them. Their shapes varied from squares to balls to hearts—he could even see a few in the shape of roses, the petals all intricately-layered.

“ _Damn_ , Goten, you really went all out! How did you do all this?” This was even better than some of the professional chocolate boxes he’d seen! Goten had to have been working on this for _hours_.

“You think she’ll like it?”

“Goten, I’ll kick her myself if she doesn’t.”

The Son laughed and shucked off his apron. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home this early. Let me hop in the shower and I’ll get started on dinner, okay?”

Trunks nodded, and Goten was gone.

Trunks made work of putting away all of the ingredients and piling the dishes in the sink. He was going get started on the washing, but decided he needed to look at the masterpiece one more time.

It was hard to believe that Goten created this. Goten was a wonderful cook, yes, but it never dawned on Trunks that he could decorate this amazingly as well. When he thought about it, he can recall how the dishes Goten made for dinner _did_ tend to look like they came out of a world-renowned restaurant, even when it was something as simple as baked chicken.

But _damn_ , if these chocolates were even so much as a _quarter_ as good as they looked...

And they _were_ delicious of course. Everything Goten made was delicious, and these chocolates would be no exception.

Trunks leaned his head against the counter, peering at the box in front of him while the thick scent swirled in his head.

It wouldn’t hurt to try one, right? Just one... to confirm his theory, of course.

He leaned closer and analyzed the situation. There were so many pieces that if he took one and just rearranged the pieces around it, no one should be able to tell the difference.

Plan firm in his mind, he reached in and pinched one of the red wrappers holding a chocolate heart with icing stripes. Shifting the other treats until the empty spot was filled, he bit into it.

He couldn’t stop the moan that left him as the still-warm white chocolate melted all over his tongue, the dark saucy center a pleasurable surprise.

So _good_.

He would be disrespecting himself if he only allowed himself one of these sinfully good treats. The only way he could compensate was by taking another.

This one had a pecan in the middle, and despite it being as delicious as the last piece, it wasn’t a fair choice because he was not entirely fond of nuts, so he deserved another choice.

It seemed that Goten’s theme was filling the centers, because inside of the powdered ball Trunks took next was baked brownie and deciding that since Goten wanted to cheat by putting in a none candy element, he deserved another. Only one more and he would be done.

This one was dark with a tang of raspberry, and he just _had_ to have one more...

... Okay, that piece was unnecessarily good so another one and that would be it.

...

Just _one_ more...

It appeared that this ‘one more’ was a mistake, because once he bit into it, the smooth caramel and milk chocolate sauce center ( _delicious_ , by the way) dripped thickly from the treat and onto the side of the box, catching some of the treats around the edge in the process.

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbled, quickly rubbing his thumb against the mess. It was too late, however as the red cardboard had been immediately discolored to the point of no return. There was no amount of rearranging he could do to cover up the number of pieces that had been caught in the crossfire, either. _Fuck_.

Well since they were already ruined...

Trunks picked through the box, plucking out the ones that were ruined—and maybe a few that weren’t—and popped them one after another into his mouth, promising that he would simply have to make it up to Goten. He’ll clean the house for the rest of the month and buy him the most expensive dinners money could buy. He could dress up as an anime maid, or maybe even a playboy bunny. Yeah, Goten would probably like that. He’ll let Goten do whatever he wanted for a night—maybe he’d even let Goten use those handcuffs Tyrese bought them as a joke, because he’s 90% sure that BDSM is some type of secret kink of his. If Goten’s porn history wasn’t enough evidence to his theory, then there was also his eager attitude to what they’d done that one Christmas that Trunks still blushed at the memory of. He meant to ask him about that. Maybe, just maybe, if Goten was _really_ mad he’d let him do it aga—

His thoughts are cut off because Goten suddenly appears in the doorway. All he’s wearing is sweatpants and his hair is dripping wet, and Trunks idly remembers that Goten tended to take short showers.

His dark eyes are wide, and Trunks _then_ remembers that he’s bent over the heart box, looking like guilt personified with his fingers brown and sticky. He can feel the mess of melted chocolate on his lips and dripping down his chin, making and even more incriminating mess of his shirt and his pride.

They stare at each other. Goten bites his lip, and Trunks prepares himself for the chastisement that will put all other chastisements to shame, until he realizes that Goten isn’t trying to hold back his anger, but rather his laughter.

Trunks feels his cheeks burn to a degree that he hasn’t accomplished since his teen years. That only seems to set Goten off, who doubles over, clutching desperately at his stomach as his laughter bellowed from deep within his body.

“ _I—I can’t_ ,” he moans, his pale face almost as red as Trunks’, “ _I c-can’t breathe!_ ”

Trunks growled and stomped towards the sink. Goten catches him by the wrists, however, examines his messy hands, and throws his head back for more laughter.

“Damn you, let me go,” Trunks grumbles.

“I c-can’t,” Goten says, fighting to get his words out. “I n-need to have this in my li-life for as long as I possibly can!”

Trunks swallowed his second growl, but he had no other choice than to wait for Goten to get a hold of himself.

He did eventually, laughter still prominent in his words as he said, “If you wanted some, you could’ve just said so. There are leftovers in the oven.”

Trunks’ jaw drops, exposing his stained teeth (which set Goten giggling again), before letting out a groan. “I’m really sorry about your mother’s chocolate, Goten.”

Goten kissed his forehead. “Don’t sweat it. I’m flattered you like my chocolate.”

“Still...”

“Don’t _worry_ about it. We’ll just get a new box and decorate some of the leftovers. Maybe I’ll even make you one of your own. It’ll cost you, though.”

Trunks quirked his brow.

Goten grinned. “Let me take a picture so I can relive this moment forever.”

Trunks’ face flushed again. “Fuck off, idiot!”

Goten seemed to ponder that, before his voice dropped into something sultrier, “Then at least let me clean you up.”

... Well, Trunks _does_ need to compensate...

Goten kisses him then, maybe a bit more enthusiastically than normal.

 He must like the taste of his chocolates as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of the 76 drabbles I wrote in total, this one is definitely in my top three favorites.


	7. Kissing

#7- Kissing

Word Count: 860

* * *

 

Goten has an addiction to kissing.

Trunks had suspected for a while now. At first, he never thought much of it. So what if Goten kissed him a lot? Everyone was different, and everyone liked different things. Goten liked kissing a bit more than the average person—not exactly something to freak out about.

As the issue progressed, however, Trunks could not help but to freak out a little. After all, just that morning he counted a total of thirty-three kisses in less than one hour. That couldn’t be healthy. There was no way a person could desire kissing as much as Goten did. The only logical deduction was that there was a problem and it needed to be addressed.

So, he did in fact bring the subject up with Goten. Initially, he had been wary to bring up the issue. What if Goten was embarrassed? What if he freaked out? What if he was so traumatized that he _never_ kissed Trunks again?

Ultimately, he decided that Goten’s wellbeing was far more important that any reaction he could be faced with.

The Son in question simply quirked his brow, and said, “You’re irresistible, Trunks. I just can’t help myself.” He then proceeded to prove his point.

That was not a fitting answer to Trunks’ concern. _Denial_ was not a fitting answer.

Most people would probably think he was overreacting, but he _knew_ that he wasn’t. It was not even just the amount of times that Goten kissed him, but even the _places_! All day Goten would kiss him, everywhere he could reach. When he said everywhere, he meant _everywhere_. Trunks once woke up to Goten kissing his elbow. Who the fuck kisses an _elbow_?

Yes, there was definitely something wrong with Goten, and Trunks needed to fix it.

... Maybe not right this very second, though, because Goten is still kissing him, making sure that their lips are pressed as hard as they can be together. It’s not long before his tongue peeks out, licks gently across Trunks’ bottom lip, and slips into his mouth. Additionally, Goten likes to _be_ kissed, so despite Trunks’ concern he obliges him, pressing back and swirling their tongues together.

Another thing that Goten liked to do was administer confusing kisses. He _hated_ Goten’s confusing kisses. To begin his point, he would like to reiterate the fact that it goes without saying that Goten was a rather sexual creature. With that said, it was easy to imagine just how dangerous Goten became once his perverted mind was set. His kisses became a weapon, clouding your thoughts and warping your desires until all you wanted was to be moaning and writhing underneath him like his own personal whore.

The second point was actually the flip side. Just as much as Goten was sex-driven, he was also an utterly and completely hopeless romantic. At those times his kisses were gifts, and while they were commonly given, they were so sweet that all you could think about was getting more. Now imagine that Goten had the potential to take either route he wanted but kept you from knowing which until the very last second. Scary.

Admittedly, Trunks didn't typically mind (he was secretly fond of both sides), but it was annoying when they were out at a restaurant or something and it was impossible to tell if Goten simply wanted a kiss or was hoping to bend him over the table right next to the steak and napkin dispenser. Another reason why this needed to be stopped.

So, what would Goten choose now? Sexy or sweet. Sexy or sweet…

The first one.

He knew this because Goten's lips had left his face to instead trail across his jaw. Trunks hissed when those lips pressed against his neck, and he bit his own lip once they touched his collarbone.

In the back of his mind he knows that he should put a stop to this. He can't keep letting Goten distract him from his work and he can't _fall_ _asleep_ like last time, and dammit Goten has a _problem_ and he shouldn't be encouraging it—

It's once his shirt is off and Goten's lips are dancing across his chest that he remembers why in fact he has a ‘back of the mind’—to dump thoughts that were of less importance than his current necessities. Apparently, the need to be kissed is a necessity.

Goten is making quick work of him, marking all of his upper body in record time before pulling off his pants. It's while his jeans are sliding off his legs that Trunks remembers that his lack of protest is not okay.

Maybe he has a problem as well.

Maybe… he's addicted to _getting kissed_.

That doesn't make it anymore okay though. If anything, it's just another problem that needs looking into. They both need to seek help; they can't go on like this.

Of course, it's at that same moment that Goten kisses in between his legs, and he concludes that their rehabilitation just has to wait for another time, preferably one where Trunks is not shuddering and demanding that Goten _use his fucking tongue already._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the drabbliest drabble that I have ever drabbled.


	8. Poems

#8- Poems

Word Count: 2124

* * *

 

“First, let's go over the report from the last meeting, which was held on June 24th. Mr. Figueroa, over to you,” Bulma said, smoothing down her skirt before reclaiming her seat.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brief. Allow me to summarize the main points of the last meeting…”

Trunks believes he deserves some credit, maybe even an applause or two. It took a lot of effort not to roll his eyes, or huff in annoyance, or plead to any and all gods who would listen, or even so much as gaze longingly at the clock. Not that it would help anything, given that the meeting had only just started. Still, it’s a comfort that he’s denying himself, and that must count for _something_.

Mentally, he yawns and shakes his head, before forcing himself to refocus on the thick, bald man whom was speaking.

“In my opinion, we have been focusing too heavily on urban customers and their needs. The way I see things, we must return to our rural base by developing an advertising campaign to focus on their particular needs.”

Gods, _why_?

Trunks wasn't sure if he should be thankful that he wasn’t required to give an opinion, seeing as how he was technically only an observer. On one hand, he was glad he didn't actually have to _engage_ in what was probably the most boring topic to have ever been discussed in history, but without the responsibility of giving input, it was even harder to pay attention.

He tried, but there was simply no way he could possibly care about the “ways to improve sales in rural market areas”. Not exactly promising, considering he planned to work in this field for roughly the next 45 years of his life, but nonetheless true.

“But Mr. Figueroa, do you not think it would also be detrimental to abandon our urban consumers?”

It was a struggle for Trunks not to bang his head very hard against the table in front of him, because really, who fucking _cares_?

On and on the meeting went in this fashion, stuffy men and women pitching their ideas across the large mahogany table. After what felt like approximately seven years of listening to his own mother’s never-ending ramble to defend some no-name woman’s claim, he chanced glancing up at the clock.

Ten minutes had passed.

Kill him, someone, _please_.

It seemed that his pleas for death were to fall on deaf ears. Thusly, another ten minutes of pretending to care about lame marketing opinions while staring unseeingly past their heads at the wall behind them went by. It was around this time that he realized it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus even on the crème-colored piece of architecture. When he blinked his eyes, he was surprised at the slight sting and heaviness he encountered.

He was falling asleep.

He did his best not to draw attention to the fact that he was quite frankly panicking. He blinked as rapidly as he could despite the futility of it. If his body wanted to sleep, then it would. With nothing like homework or some annoying Son to hold his attention, there was no point in fighting it. Still he had to try—Trunks doesn’t even want to think about how the rest of his life will go if he truly falls asleep in this moment right here and now—and pray with all his might that something, _anything_ , would keep him awake.

His prayers were answered in the form of the cell phone in his front pocket. The sudden vibration of an incoming message startled him so badly that he nearly yelped. Thankfully, his mother was too busy still debating why urban consumers were just as important as the rural consumers to notice.

He shouldn’t do it. Just because they weren’t paying attention to him didn’t mean he could pull out a _cell phone_. It was not an easy fight for his mother to convince all those whose opinions mattered that it wasn’t a horrible idea to pass over her company to her twenty-year old son, and the last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize it. Not only would it be highly unprofessional to start texting right now, it would be downright, unforgivably, _rude_.

Then again, so was passing out from exhaustion and boredom...

Mentally cursing himself beyond all creation and hating himself for falling into the young adult stereotype, he maneuvered his fingers to slip the cellphone out of his pocket. He held it down by his knee, and once the device was unlocked, he swiftly turned the brightness down as low as it would go. It was hard to see the dim words that were partially hidden by the table for extra cover, but with his mother’s tendency to randomly be observant, he refused to risk it.

**[Heeeeeeey baaaabe :-*]**

Really, who else would it be beside Goten?

Trunks rolled his eyes at the message and ‘kissy emoji’ but refused to reply. It was one thing to simply check a message, but a different thing entirely for him to actually _reply_. Still, he would have to thank Goten later for the quick burst of needed energy.

With that in mind, he effortlessly slipped the phone back into his pocket. He was surprised two minutes later, however, when it was vibrating against his thigh again.

**[Roses are red,**

**So is the case of my phone**

**Why won't you talk to me?**

**I'm forever alone :’(]**

Trunks read over the message multiple times until he was 100% positive that Goten was actually so hurt by his silence that he wrote a _poem_ about it. Trunks literally doesn’t think he’s ever met such a dorky (and fucking annoying) person in his life.

Well... _one_ message couldn’t hurt. After all, Goten deserved at least an explanation for his efforts.

[ _Im in a meeting… and thats not how the poem goes dumbass_ ]

It was a few moments later when the phone vibrated once again in his palm.

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets are camo**

**Out of seven billion people,**

**I love you the m _O_ st!]**

Trunks couldn’t help it; how could he possibly ignore something so horrible?

[ _That was terrible Goten and you should be ashamed of yourself. Regardless of your emphasis on the ‘O’, ‘camo’ and ‘most’ dont rhyme…_ ]

Trunks doesn’t bother re-locking his phone, seeing as how it was barely a second later that Goten replied:

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets match the sky**

**Poems are hard...**

**... and so am I]**

Trunks nearly chokes, invoking a quick glance from his mother, before she returned to listening to the point a man—whom Trunks really should’ve been making an effort to listen too—was making. He isn’t sure why exactly he was so surprised that he had to react in such a way; this _is_ Goten he’s talking to, after all.

He straightens his body and clicks on the keyboard. He shouldn’t play along, but maybe if he does, Goten will take the hint and leave him alone.

[ _Roses are red,_

 _Violets_ aren't _blue_

_If you don't leave me alone,_

_I'm going to choke you_ ]

A moment later:

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets are pinky**

**Choke me, Trunks?**

**Sounds kinda kinky ;-)]**

[ _Roses are red,_

_Pinky isn't a color_

_If you send me another,_

_I'll show it too your mother_ ]

Trunks hid his smug smile, unable to deny that his last poem was quite clever. Still, he knew better than to hope that it would end Goten’s annoying game. He knew his Son too well.

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets are green**

**I know you love it, Trunks,**

**There's no reason to be mean]**

Trunks sent a glare emoji.

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets are _purty_**

**90% of my dreams about you,**

**Are very dirty]**

[ _Roses are red,_

_violets grow in dirt_

_Learn how to spell,_

_You fucking pervert_ ]

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets also grow in grass**

**I think you should spread your legs,**

**And let me at that ass]**

Trunks’ fingers faltered as his cheeks began to redden. He’s used to Goten’s vulgarity, but the abruptness of it sent heat pooling in his stomach in a rather embarrassing way given where exactly he's _at_ right now. Mainly he’s pissed because every time he blinks, he can see and practically feel Goten’s hands pushing his legs apart to fit himself between them and _goddammit_ this is not the time!

Irritated and humiliatingly bothered, he types back:

[ _Roses are red,_

_My annoyance is true_

_I have five fingers,_

_And the middle one is for you_ ]

Moments go by in silence, enough time for Trunks to calm his face and the heat in his body. He waits, but still there is no reply, until a whole minute goes by and he figures Goten has finally taken the hint. Satisfied, he tucks the device back into his pocket, only to nearly flip the table when it suddenly vibrates again.

Holding back a snarl, he opens his text messaging app for what he promises is the last time, only to be met with a long paragraph of words.

**[Violets are blue,**

**roses are red**

**I really can't wait,**

**To get you in bed.**

**Roses are red,**

**violets are gold**

**Hearing you moan,**

**Never gets old.**

**Roses are red,**

**you may be older**

**But I still want you on your back,**

**With your legs over my shoulders.**

**Roses are red,**

**I have an endless list:**

**Your thighs, your hips, your lips,**

**Are only a few of the places I'll kiss.**

**Roses are red,**

**forgive me if I bite**

**For hours you’ll be screaming my name,**

**Just wait until tonight ;-)]**

Trunks, to his credit, did not in fact squeal in an undignified manner, though his face did heat up to a sweltering degree. The fire in his stomach had returned tenfold, and it took all of his control not to spontaneously combust right in front of his mother and her colleagues. Goddammit, why did Goten have to do this to him?!

Through Trunks’ physical turmoil, he can feel eyes on him. He can’t help but look over, and too his mortification, he finds his mother glancing at him with an amused smile on her face and a knowing look in her eyes.

He was going to kill Goten, and in the most unmerciful way possible.

The vibration that Trunks has grown accustomed to rears its ugly head again, and while every fiber of his being tells him to ignore it (he can’t handle another like the last one, he just can’t), he still gives into his curiosity, and reluctantly opens the message.

**[Roses are red,**

**Violets are blue**

**Faces like yours,**

**Belong in a zoo.**

**But don’t be afraid,**

**for I’ll be there too.**

**Not in the cage,**

**but laughing at you!]**

Trunks deadpanned. He hoped that Goten could feel the force of his glare through the phone because _oh_ was he glaring. The heat in his body was deflating like a popped balloon, but the urge to inflict bodily harm on a certain Son remained.

**[I’m only joking,**

**I’ve got nothing else to do**

**So I might as well tell you,**

**How much I love you!**

**I loved you yesterday**

**Even more so today,**

**Tomorrow’s a given**

**Forever and always!**

**So I hope you enjoyed these poems,**

**That I made up for you!**

**Hope it makes you smile,**

**And brightens your day too!]**

A second later:

**[P.S. I’m still gonna pound you until YOU’RE red and blue tonight ;)]**

Trunks held back his snicker and opted to roll his eyes. Still, despite his lingering annoyance, he can admit that Goten was a big sap, and thusly deserved something equally sappy. So he typed with no reservations until he was satisfied with his messages. Once they were sent, he shut his phone down. His energy was back, and he found it much easier to pay attention to the discussion that was still happening around him, even if his mind kept wondering just what exactly the coming night had in store for him. The way this day is going, he’ll certainly benefit from some explicit action in their bedroom at the end of it.

[ _Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_That’s what they say,_

_But it just isn’t true._

_Because roses are red,_

_and apples are too_

_But violets are_ violet _,_

_They really aren’t blue._

_But you still make me happy_

_As only you can,_

_Being with you_

_makes my life grand._

_So thank you, baby_

_With all that is me,_

_You’re an idiot but I love you_

_For all of eternity_ ]

[ _P.S. you best get all the rest you can now because youll need it for tonight. I plan on looking like roses and violets by tomorrow morning and you better not disappoint me._ ]

 


	9. Hearts

#9- Hearts

Word Count: 2907

* * *

 

Over the years, Trunks’ opinion of sex morphed quite a bit.

In the beginning—back when he was still trying to play the stereotypical, annoyingly-perverted, heterosexual pre-teenager—he hadn’t thought very highly of it. Sex, or even just thinking of sex made him... uncomfortable. Of course, he’s not quite sure if he could blame his discomfort solely on the girls and his forced persona—given that he really had no business engaging in such activities at that age in the first place—but even as he grew older, the act of maintaining his “womanizer” reputation was more chore-like than anything else. Everyone _expected_ him to be that way, and it simply did not make sense to be anything else.

Eventually he stopped trying to kid himself, and sex became something a bit more positive. It had been a bit difficult finding partners to experiment with, considering the fact that he was trying to avoid the boys at his school who personally knew him, but with Cayon’s support (A.K.A connections), he found that sex could be fucking _nice_. Who would’ve thought that the missing piece to his sexuality puzzle was simply someone else’s dick? Sex was exhilarating. Sex was exciting. Sex was only for a moment, but so addictive that he couldn’t wait to do it again. He finally understood why all the other boys his age were so obsessed with it.

Then along came Goten and sex had changed entirely again. Exhilarating... exciting... those words just weren’t enough.

He likes to blame the change on the fact that Goten was simply the first person that he actually let... _inside of_ his body, but he knows that it’s not true.  It was not the physical aspect that changed so much (aside from the whole penetration thing), because sex would always feel good as long as the partner was adequate enough, and his body would always feel the act itself was too short and would always crave more.

He thinks that the most notable difference was that sex was no longer so... two-dimensional? Sure, the aspect itself was the same, but the emotions and feelings he would experience were oh so _different_. He found that even after the physical act was completed, the warmth inside of him remained. The elation could remain for hours, whether he was cursing Goten’s name while rushing to make it to class on time or dozing off curled up in his arms. It was good, it was there, and it was fucking wonderful. He couldn’t deny that sex with the person you love was better than any substitute. The desire; the passion; simply knowing Goten’s body—knowing what made him tick and what made him shiver, was better than anything else he could imagine.  

That’s why even through his panting and lidded, clouded eyes, he could clearly see Goten, mid-thrust, gritting his teeth and trying but failing to conceal a wince.

Trunks’ eyes flew open, his lust dissipating as he quickly sat up and pushed Goten back by his shoulders, paying no mind to the slight twinge he felt when he slipped out of his body.

“What's wrong?” He asked his voice too urgent for their given states and the lingering, passionate atmosphere. He was too worried to care about that though. He was worried, because nothing should hurt, at least not in the kind of sex they had. So, it had to be something else.

Goten was clearly surprised, and it took him a decent moment to string together his scrambled reply: “Nothing is wro—”

“Goten,” Trunks said, a cool grip of panic beginning to seep into his core. “Tell me what is wrong.”

“It's just a little chest pain. It's nothing serious, babe.” His attempts to remedy the situation was pointless of course, seeing as how the moment the word ‘chest’ left his lips, Trunks was on his feet and almost completely dressed.

“But Trunks I'm still har—”

He was promptly cut off by a shirt colliding with his face.

XXX

The trip to the hospital was unusually quick, but that was simply due to necessary circumstance. They did not have an automobile, mainly because at the time, it seemed pointless to have one when everything they needed was within walking distance.

How stupid that decision was! Walking would not get them there nearly fast enough!

So, with a squawking Goten thrown over his shoulder, Trunks flew.

It was not too risky, given that it was dark and thus hid them from any incredulous eyes. It was more difficult once they reached the brightly-lit, and rather populated hospital building (despite the late hour), and even once he landed, what would he do with Goten? He couldn’t expect him to actually _walk_ all the way up to the entrance. What if it made his condition worse?

Then he saw a wheelchair, dropped Goten into it. He tilted it back so as to prevent the Son from trying to escape and sprinted up to the automatic double-doors. His heart was pounding as he raced into the lobby, and it wouldn’t stop no matter how he tried to tell himself to calm down. Goten was fine, he was just bringing him here as a precaution. Besides, Goten was young, so the odds of his pain being related to his heart was slim, right? _Right_?

All his efforts were in vain though as he nearly snapped on the receptionist lady, who spoke and directed them towards the waiting room with a calm, borderline-bored tone. What the hell was wrong with her? Why the hell was she not panicking? Did she not know she was working in the _emergency_ room? Did she not know that Goten could be _dying_? Did she not understand that he was Trunks Brief, heir to the richest company in the world, and that his lover, fiancé, soon-to-be husband, and future father of the seven children Trunks did not want was in danger?!

Trunks did not even realize he was pacing until a hand grabbed his wrist and tugged him into a very snug lap. Pale arms wrapped around his waist, and a head pressed itself into his back. Goten released a breath, and he could feel the heat of it through his shirt.

“Stop worrying,” he heard. “I said I’m fine.”

Trunks didn’t believe him, naturally. He was no doctor, but he knew that injuries involving the chest could be serious (or _become_ serious), and he just wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He could calm down, though. His freaking out probably wasn’t what Goten needed right now anyway.

So, with a deep breath, he leaned back against his injured Son, and tried but failed to ignore the stares that they were no doubt receiving in the less than empty waiting room. While wrapped in his arms, Trunks noticed that Goten was sweating, and it could no longer hide behind the disguise of their love-making. Seeing as how Goten was... _calm_ now, and he hadn’t actually needed to move since Trunks brought him here, sweating was not normal.

Now that he thought about it, Goten had been acting strangely as of late. Nothing drastic, more just that he wasn’t as annoyingly enthusiastic as he normally tended to be. Trunks didn’t think much of it, or rather he didn’t have _time_ to think much of it, what with flying back and forth from America to Japan, attending his classes and meetings with his mother, all while trying to find time to complete his homework, and watch beneficial online seminars, and take _notes_ on those seminars, and study for his upcoming exams, and actually play a part in the planning and media-related issues of his impending wedding. He made an effort not to _completely_ ignore his fiancé, often times calling him when he had the chance and sending text messages even at the most inconvenient times.

Why, just the other day Goten had chosen to send him highly inappropriate text messages while he was in a meeting, and Trunks—albeit reluctantly—humored him. He had found it a little strange, seeing as how normally at that time on a Tuesday, Goten would be too busy working to have time to hold a conversation (especially one as provocative as that one, given that he worked around _children_ all day), so he had safely assumed that Goten had just taken the day off.

It never dawned on him that there was a reason _why_.

He felt Goten breathe out a sigh against his neck, and relaxed his body, not even realizing that he’d tensed up again. Now was not the time to freak out again. Now was the time to comfort his beloved in a blanket of calm and poised demeanor, and to focus on ignoring the onlookers who really should _mind their own fucking business._

XXX

Fifteen minutes later, they were called back.

Twenty-five minutes later, they were holding hands, and Trunks was pretending he didn’t notice the uneasy look on Goten’s face while the doctor examined him.

Forty minutes later, the doctor returned to give them the heart-breaking news that Goten was suffering from a particularly bad case of gas.

“What,” Trunks said, his voice flat.

“Just a bit of gas,” the doctor repeated for him, irritatingly straight-faced. “It’s not uncommon and can often times appear to be more serious than it is. I can prescribe medication if you’d like, but over-the-counter drugs and plenty of water should be sufficient.”

Even with the repeat, it still took a moment for it too really hit Trunks, and by then Goten had already begun to fill the room with his obnoxious laughter, clutching his chest all the way. All Trunks could do was groan, drop his head into his hands, and hate his life.

 The doctor politely told them to take their time, and promptly left.

“Wow, I really came to the hospital over chest gas. They made us wait like an hour to tell us that I had chest gas!” Goten exclaimed, still giggling like a child.

“Shut _up_ , Goten,” Trunks muttered, his face still hidden in his hands. “I can’t believe I was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Goten said, wiping a joyful tear from his eye. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Trunks said nothing, still too mortified to look up, even when Goten grew silent.

His silence did not last long. “But really, what happened back there? I can’t remember ever seeing you freak out like that.”

_‘Well obviously not considering last time you were unconscious and about to spin off the road in my car.’_

That situation had been different of course, and yet that same cool grip of panic had started to plague him even now. He knew why he had overreacted, of course. That didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to _say_ it, especially while he was still wallowing in self-pity over his humiliating blunder.

But he had already decided he would not hide from Goten anymore, so he had too say it. “It would’ve been my fault.”

“What?” Goten’s eyes popped. “How could my chest congestion be _your_ fault?”

“I’m not talking about that! I’m saying, what if it _wasn’t_ just congestion?” Trunks snapped his eyes up to meet where Goten still sat surprised on the examination table. “What if it was something else, something more serious? I wouldn’t have noticed a thing!”

Trunks wanted to stop—he was practically attacking Goten, in a doctor’s office, no less. He couldn’t stop though; the words he hadn’t even known he’d been holding back were spilling out. “I knew you took off work that day—even though you _never_ do that. I knew you weren’t acting like yourself, and yet I continued on with my stupid _agendas_ like it didn’t matter! Like _you_ didn’t matter! I could be in Japan right now signing pointless documents, or attending some useless class, or taking some pictures for a stupid magazine while you’re over here _hurting_.”

And it would always be like this, because once they were married, Goten wouldn’t have anyone else to rely on except for Trunks. And Trunks would always be busy, too caught up in marketing deals, and coordinating meetings, and deliberating ideas and pitches. He would always be too busy to notice when Goten wasn’t well. He would always be clouded by his own stress and weariness to notice that the person most important to him needed him.

And it wasn’t fair, especially not when Goten put _him_ before everything. Goten didn’t need to have such an obvious clue such as flinching during sex to know that Trunks was hurt, or sick, or even simply upset. He always knew how to take care of him, and treat him when he was injured, and say what needed to be said to make him feel better. He knew how to simply _be there_.

Trunks looked away. He couldn’t bear to witness the shift in Goten’s eyes, the way they would soften as he tried to comfort _him_ , as if he were actually suffering, and not just dealing with reality.

“I’m sorry.” _I’m sorry I’m yelling at you. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were hurt. I’m sorry I’ve been too busy to care. I’m sorry that I’m going to be the worst husband ever._

“Come here.”

Trunks ignored him.

“Come here, Trunks.” His voice was stern, like he was commanding a child. Trunks probably should have been annoyed, but he couldn’t find it in him to deny Goten a second time.

He reluctantly stood from his seat and took the few necessary paces until he was standing in front of Goten’s dangling legs on the examination table. He didn’t even get the chance to look away ashamedly, however, for Goten had immediately wrapped his arms around his waist, and effortlessly lifted him up to straddle his lap.

Trunks was still too dazed from the sudden movement to speak, and Goten took advantage of his silence. “I’m _fine_.”

“But—”

“I. Am. _Fine_ ,” Goten said again. “You’re freaking out even though you know it wasn’t that serious.”

“But what if it was—”

“It _wasn’t_ , Trunks. And even if it was, you’d be the first person I call, and demand take care of me.”

“You shouldn’t have too. I should be able to tell—”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much to ask of anyone? We are only human after all... kinda. It’s unfair to expect yourself to be able to judge my health at a moment’s glance.”

Trunks held back a childish huff. “You seem to do so just fine...”

Goten blinked as if he was confused, before he rolled his eyes and smiled. “Trunks we are two very different people if you haven’t noticed. One day you’ll be a big bad CEO and who will be the one slacking then, huh? I gotta have some talents too, don’t you think? Being intoned to people and taking care of them is a part of me—not everyone is like that. Besides, growing up with a single mother who constantly tries to downplay her own wellbeing so as not to worry her kids kind of forces you to learn how to read people.

“And really, you aren’t giving yourself enough credit.” Goten nuzzled his nose. “I mean, you got me here inhumanely quickly once you thought something was wrong. And you didn’t flip out on that lady at the counter or the other people in the waiting room even though I know you wanted to. And you didn’t freak out as much as you did earlier even though you were worried about me. That has to count for something, right?”

“I guess...” Trunks muttered, mainly because he didn’t know what else to say.

Goten rubbed the back of his head. “And well, I guess it’s kinda my fault. You probably wouldn’t have freaked so much if I had said something before.”

“Yeah, you are kind of a dick.”

Goten chuckled, and annoyingly nuzzled their noses again. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Trunks sighed. They weren’t arguing, but if they were, he certainly would have lost. He couldn’t make Goten understand, and there was no point in trying, but he did feel a bit better he supposed. He understood Goten’s argument over the severity of the situation, and while he’s a bit embarrassed about how he overreacted, he did not regret bringing him here. He was glad that he had the peace of mind that Goten genuinely was okay.

But what about when it _was_ serious? What would he do then?

Trunks didn’t want to think about it, and right now, he supposed he didn’t have too. “I can’t forgive you if I was never mad. Just... I don’t care how minor it is, you _have_ to tell me when something is wrong. I can’t catch these kinds of things like you do.”

Goten hummed in agreement, then arched his brow in serious contemplation.

“Well, I guess I do have a bit of a problem right now...”

“What?” Trunks perked up, eager to help his beloved if only to further ease his conscience.

“Well you see...” Goten said at the same moment that he shifted Trunks just a bit in his lap.

Then, there was an unmistakable and rather suggestive hardness brushing against his thigh.

His chest was the part that was injured, so Trunks felt no remorse for pained yelp he received when he swatted Goten upside the head.


	10. Doves

#10- Doves

Word Count: 3410

* * *

 

“Alright now smile big— _big_ smile!”

Trunks swore that if he heard this man tell him to ‘smile big’ again, he would personally stab him in the neck.

“No, no, _bigger_ smile, Mr. Brief! _Oui, oui_ , _magnifique_!”

Well, he'd _like_ to stab him in the neck, but that wasn't exactly socially acceptable, so he should probably refrain. It didn’t hurt to dream, though.

“No, no, no, Mr. Brief!” Trunks’ brow twitched at the familiar American voice doing a horrible job at trying to mimic a French one. “ _bigger smile_!”

_‘Don't fucking test me, Tyrese, I'll stab you too.’_

Erana rolled her eyes and tugged harshly on one of Tyrese’s braids as punishment, but the purpose was defeated considering the fact that she was giggling as well.

Trunks, over the past two years, had formed quite the friendship with Tyrese, even despite no longer being roommates. Likewise, Goten and Erana seemed to hit it off, perfectly setting the field for double dates and the like—which they went on quite often. The two Americans, however, were not used to the wondrous privileges that having a rich and foreign friend provided, and thus were eager to assimilate themselves into whatever it was that the Japanese duo were engaging in—especially involving their wedding. Today they had practically begged to tag along to their magazine photoshoot, and Trunks saw no reason to deny his friends.  

 _‘Well I might have, had I known they were going to be annoying pricks,’_ Trunks scowled at the amused couple. He was quickly drawn back to the camera by the photographer, however, and had to try very hard to hold back an irritated growl.

 _‘Just do what this French dick says and smile. The sooner they get a good picture, the sooner I can go home and watch ‘Love and Hip Hop_ ’ _.’_

Moments later he was surprised when the flash of the multiple cameras finally stopped their blinding assault. As he was blinking his vision back, he only just barely overheard the declaration of a break, and thusly allowed his body to deflate in relief. He exhaustedly dropped his head into his hands, careful not to ruin his ‘windswept’ hairstyle.

Trunks hated photoshoots.

It was a beautiful day, though. The sun was not directly over him but was bright enough that he could still feel it. The flower garden that had been chosen for the photoshoot was beautiful as well: the air was sweet with the tulips, and magnolias, and daisies, and chrysanthemums that littered the area in bunches and clusters—the water droplets on the petals sparkling just rightly in the sunlight. Also, there were doves, which he supposed were to add to the setting. They had only taken a few sets of photos while holding one of the birds. Other than that, the birds were pretty much roaming freely, apparently in hopes to make the scene more “natural”.

Yes, the atmosphere was beautiful, but what was even better was that there was no homework; no meeting to rush too; no painfully sleepless night ahead of him for the rest of February. Aside from the cameras and his sore cheeks, he’s the most at peace he’s been in months.

Goten seemed to be enjoying himself, at least. Man-made as it may be, Goten was naturally at home in the nature-inspired setting. He, on contrast, had been excited to do the photoshoot, his body thrumming with excitement the entire flight over. Trunks supposed he could relate—he had been childishly excited for his first photoshoot (a stupid article for a scientific magazine, no less), but after a while it got quite old and tiring.

After a several moments of silence, Trunks looked over to the younger man sitting next to him on the grass with the intent to start conversation. He stops however, because he’s met with a glare. The hostile expression is not aimed at him however, and following the gaze, he’s met with another glare, only this one from warm brown eyes. Trunks could have sworn he saw lightning spark between their locked gazes, and it appeared that he was the only one who was noticing the non-verbal but just as violent showdown.  

And of course, Goten just had to stick his tongue out, prompting an eye roll and a click of the tongue from Cayon.

Trunks held back an eye roll of his own, his mind flashing back to the tirade Goten had gone into about how annoyed he was that Cayon had to be there, and vice versa when he had spoken to the blond-brunet before the cameras were set up.

Trunks was surrounded by children.

“Hey,” he said in an effort to get Goten's attention off of the other male. These two would never get along, but at this point, Trunks couldn’t care less. As long as they weren’t actively trying to kill each other, they could feel however they damn well pleased about one another.

Goten looked over, stretching his arms over his head. “What are they doing? Why did they stop taking pictures?”

“We’re on a break.”

Fuck this break—Trunks just wanted to go home. They had been here for nearly two hours now, and most of the time had been spent getting their makeup done, styling their hair, and carefully selecting their wardrobe. The actual picture-taking wasn’t so bad, if it wasn’t for the constant repositioning and endless reminders to _fucking smile_.

Trunks peered his eyes up at the photographer, who was fiddling around with his camera. The man wasn’t _really_ a dick he supposed, just annoying. It was more that the situation itself was a dick. Honestly, didn’t people have more interesting things to do than look at his face on a magazine cover?

He supposed he should be grateful though. The target audience were, of course, the Japanese, and yet the photoshoot was taking place in Louisiana. Not exactly a quick flight from their little apartment, but close enough that he wouldn’t die from exhaustion. He had an essay to revise and submit, but that was the last of the homework (and _then_ he could watch ‘ _Love and Hip Hop’_ ). Once the essay was done and submitted, he would have no more schoolwork to complete before they left on their honeymoon.

_‘Don’t think about the wedding. You get weird every time you think about it.’_

Even though the whole point of the photoshoot _was_ their wedding. The public just _needed_ to have adorable, love-filled photos of their favorite homosexual couple before they were married.

He said that he wouldn’t think about that though, so he stopped.

“I’m so _bored_ ,” Goten groaned after a few moments.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Trunks responded.

Goten groaned again and rolled onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes to protect them from the brightness of the sky.

Trunks rolled his eyes. “Goten, you can't take a nap in the middle of a photoshoot.”

Goten was so still that Trunks wouldn't be surprised if he was already asleep. Trunks rolled his eyes again but figured that Goten should be fine. The hairdressers did not even attempt to style the Son’s painfully spiky locks and thus they could not be ruined, and as long as he didn’t move around, his clothes shouldn’t wrinkle.

Trunks couldn't possibly sleep on the grass (he would be too wary of bugs crawling on him, _yuck_ ). Goten, however, looked quite peaceful, though Trunks supposed that was what happened when you were raised in the forest all your life.

Trunks turns away and watches the scene before him. Amidst the photographers and assistants bustling about he can see Cayon somehow flirting with both Erana and Tyrese at the same time, much to girl’s amusement and the boy’s discomfort.

Cayon would never change, that was for sure. Not that Trunks would want him any other way.

His entertainment is cut off however as he feels his ears twitch at the unmistakable sound of flapping wings. Turning his head, he was met with the sight of a pure white dove fluttering towards them and making no signs of stopping.

Trunks felt the inklings of panic, but the bird was already flying past his face as if he wasn’t even there. It was much more interested in Goten, it seemed, seeing as how it came to land right on his chest.

Trunks stared, and then stared some more, completely shocked as the bird settled itself more comfortably on his humanoid perch, Goten still completely undisturbed. Moments passed by and neither did the bird open up its wings and fly away nor Goten show any signs of awakening. It took a while, but finally Trunks concluded that he was not, in fact, hallucinating but was simply witnessing what was clearly a miracle of the universe.

He gave a silent laugh. Goten seemed to love pointing out how deep of a sleeper Trunks was, and yet hadn’t even stirred to having a creature treat him as a landing pad.

Maybe the bird would poop on him, that would certainly be disturbing.

Quite amused but politely cautious, he slowly—so as not to disturb the scene—laid onto his side next to his lover, careful to keep his face from touching the grass with his folded hands. Settled and comfortable, he contented himself with studying the other.

Goten was just as handsome asleep as he was awake. It was a shame that his impossibly black eyes were hidden, but every other feature more than enough made up for it. Any of the baby fat he had retained as a teen had completely faded away, leaving a man who looked so much like his father and brother that they all might as well be triplets. His lips looked soft, and his skin seemed even paler from the sun and subtle makeup. Not that Trunks didn’t already know these things. He’s long since memorized every detail of his beloved.

So, he trails his eyes down to the bird. It isn’t completely white, he notices. Along his feathers are brown splotches, and along the back of its neck is a black stripe.

Even though they weren’t much more than white pigeons, Trunks liked doves. He even liked this one, as imperfect as it was. Doves were symbols of peace, and love, and purity. Just looking at it now all Trunks could think of was beautiful, quiet innocence.

It reminded him of Goten in some ways. Not the quietness of course, but the love definitely, and the innocence, and even the purity. Crude as Goten could be, he was undoubtedly pure of heart—way more than Trunks would ever be, that was for sure.  

Pure, innocent, and full of love. That was Goten, alright, and always would be. Even at his worst, he would always be pure.

It was a fact because he’d seen Goten at his worst—his _true_ worst. His absolute worst had been the day he’d lost his mother, though Trunks didn’t allow himself to think about that day much. That had been a very bad day for everyone, and thus was banished from all their minds.

So, then what was the second worst? Well, he supposed he already knew the answer to that. He figured, if he had to pick, that it was that day so long ago. The day they had spent in the forest, both of them grimy and raw with emotion. Not nearly as severe as his true worst, but painful all the same.

 _“You mean_ everything _to me!”_

He could hear his own voice—shaky with tears and frustration—ringing so clearly in his head that he might as well have said those words yesterday, when in reality it had been over two years. Despite how well he could remember it, it still felt like much longer ago. He'd been such a child back then—a child who loved but was too new and too scared to show it. His insecurities had been so _bad_ back then, but he supposed for good reason. The person he loved the most was under the impression that he didn't care about him at all. What other conclusion could he draw that he was just a bad lover? He’s certain that Goten doesn't feel that way anymore—Trunks likes to think that he’s improved since then—but it definitely was a hard funk to pull himself out of.

Looking back, it baffles him how silly it was—their entire relationship nearly thrown away over a drunken misunderstanding. It had been so stupid, but almost so devastating real. It was for that reason that, as embarrassing as his behavior that day had been, he did not regret those words he has said in his true and utter perturbation. He remembers the panic he felt, the raw desperation to _make_ Goten understand. He had been so scared, _so_ scared that he’d lose this.

He could have lost this.

Or who knows, maybe they would have worked something out eventually—maybe in a less dramatic and less emotion-driven way. The camping trip aside, they couldn’t avoid each other forever. Once their hurt feelings were allowed to simmer, who knows how easy it could have been for them to realize the very big error in their situation and properly fix the problem...

Not that Trunks really cared either way. Regardless of how it happened, everything had worked out and that was all that mattered. Sure, their relationship had been a bit rocky afterwards, but they were together, and Goten knew the truth of the feelings he was too afraid to express.

That was another reason Trunks didn’t regret his words—they were not lies. It had been true then and was true now. Goten was everything to him. Goten had always been everything to him.

The realization of his thoughts hit him so hard that he gasped, catching the dove’s attention for a moment, before it went back to resting. It seemed such a strange thing to be surprised over—after all, he’s always known how much Goten has meant to him.

But that was the whole point, and somehow it had taken Trunks so long to see it! Goten meant everything to him—no, they meant everything to _each other_. Over the years, that fact had more than enough made itself abundantly clear. They lived together. They cuddled. They went on dates. They fought. They kissed. They were best friends. With all of their hearts they loved each other and weren’t afraid to say so.

So, what was changing from this wedding that made Trunks so nervous? Was their relationship the past three years any less valid than it would be for the rest of their lives? Did two pretty rings and a piece of paper suddenly turn their relationship into something more meaningful; something more real?

No, it didn’t. Aside from legally binding them together, their marriage didn’t really do much at all. They would love each other just as much as they did the day before the wedding as they would the day after. No document could change that.

So why was he so shaken up over it? Was it the prospect of children that marriage seemed to open up? He won’t deny that he hadn’t even thought about kids until he started to think about the wedding. However, while the thought of them still made him uncomfortable, he was smart enough to know that children were not synonymous with marriage. While it would be more socially acceptable, they didn’t _need_ to be married to have children. Given his status, married or not they could have them within the next few months just as easily as they could fifteen years from now. Kids were not the problem.

What was it then? Was it simply the thought of giving himself to Goten forever? To bind the two of them together as one?

But... he’d already done that. Disregarding the fact that they could literally fuse themselves as one person, they had always been two halves of the same whole. There was nothing on this Earth that could make him believe that a paper binding them as one was more powerful than the personal connection that had been there even before they had begun to love each other in this way. They didn’t need to be married to prove the depth of their devotion; they would always be just as committed to each other, ceremony or no.

So then why did they do it? Why would Goten propose to him in the first place? He had to have thought of things in the same way Trunks was doing right now, so what was the point?

But the answer was obvious.

The point was that it was a _promise_. It was the most important promise of all.

Goten loved him. He loved him so much that he wanted to stand up in front of a room full of people and pledge it. He wanted his promise to stay with, care for, and always love Trunks to be heard—and he wanted to hear it back. It was important to Goten, so very seriously important.

It was important to Trunks too. It had always been important to Trunks, only now he knew why, and had no reason to be afraid of it anymore.

It wasn’t a promise that they were making out of obligation. It was a promise based on choice. A choice to let others witness the tenderness of their attachment; a choice to have it in writing; a choice to wear jewels that would symbolize it forever. _That_ was why they were getting married.

Who cared if they were moving too fast? Who cared if they were young and only just understanding what it truly meant to be an adult? Who cared if it wasn’t ‘normal’? It didn’t matter. It didn’t _fucking_ matter.

It was a choice that Trunks wanted to make and make it he would. They would make it together.

He wanted to marry Goten, and for the first time, he means that with no shadow of a doubt. He wants to say his vows—loudly so Goten will hear the words and never forget. He wants to promise Goten that he will love him forever, even if he already knows. He wanted to slide the ring made by the two of them onto his finger so that he will always remember.

He wants to marry Goten.

He can’t _wait_ to marry Goten.

 _‘Seriously? It took me two years and a_ pigeon _to figure this out?’_

To be completely honest, he was an idiot who didn't deserve the loving, and innocent, and pure person that Goten was.

But Trunks was selfish, and faulty, and oh so loving too and would hold onto him as tightly as he could—forever if need be.

Trunks blew air out a bit roughly from his nose, prompting Goten to open his eyes and tilt his head to the side until their gazes met, confirming that he hadn’t been asleep at all. Those black eyes were calm, but there was something else there—something rather beautiful. It was like his eyes were looking at his whole world.

Trunks wondered if the same thing was reflecting in his own eyes.

_‘I love him. I love him. He’s mine. He will always be mine.’_

The shift of Trunks’ body disturbed the dove, prompting it to fly away as he pressed his lips against his fiancé’s, and he wondered if the kiss they would soon share on the altar would be as sweet.

XXX

Their kiss had been used as the cover for the magazine.

The dove and its outstretched wings covered the corner of the frame and half of Goten’s face, but not in an obnoxious way. Their eyes were closed and aside from lying on the grass they weren’t in any special position. The sun didn’t shine down on them in any type of appealing ways, and Trunks’ windswept hair was clearly mussed unintentionally, but nothing could overshadow the genuine love in the photo that only the most skilled of photographers could ever capture.

He wonders idly how they even managed to take the picture at such an angle without him noticing and was more than a bit annoyed that they had taken such an intimate moment and used it for something as superficial as a magazine cover, but he couldn't deny that it was a damn good picture.


	11. Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains the sex.

#11- Roses

Word Count: 1517

* * *

 

Contrary to Japanese traditions, Trunks did not make a habit of taking baths. He wasn’t particularly averse to them, they just seemed inconvenient, and an unnecessary waste of water. He wasn’t crazy about the thought of marinating in his own filth, either.

That didn’t stop Goten from being an exasperating romantic—nothing could stop that.

He does not question how Goten did it so discreetly. Trunks found that once he was engrossed in his work, the rest of the world might as well not even exist (Once Goten had cooked a whole meal plus dessert around Trunks, who sat completely oblivious at the kitchen counter). He just knows that one minute he’s stretching his tired muscles after submitting his newly revised essay, and the next he’s being led into their newly transformed bathroom.

Goten went all out, it seemed. The light was turned off, their eyesight supported only by the shiny candles Goten had lined up against the rim of the tub, making the porcelain twinkle. The room smelled sweet, there was music—subtle yet sultry—chiming from the cell phone left on the sink, and a glass of white wine rested untouched next to the candles.

The deciding factor that held it all together, however, was most definitely the roses. The deep red petals were everywhere—scattered amongst the rug and floor; dispersed along the candles; in the water, floating atop the bubbles.

He’s not sure where Goten got the roses or the candles or this whole idea in general on such short notice, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was only struck with the desire to get the fuck _in_.

“Goten, you really don’t have to waste gallons of water just to get me to relax,” he had said, because he wasn’t immune to Japanese obligatory politeness, “but since it’s already done you might as well waste it with me.”

“Right, because you don’t take hour long showers every night or anything,” Goten pointed out as he removed his shirt.

Trunks, of course, denied such a claim— “Forty minutes, _maybe_ ”—which made Goten laugh, and then they were in together. They attempted to talk, but then of course they had to cuddle while they talked, and then touch a bit while they cuddled, and that of course spiraled down and down until it eventually ended with Trunks’ mouth around Goten’s dick.

Trunks loved the moans that graced his ears as he bobbed his head to whichever pace he liked. He unfortunately didn’t get to touch it with his hands too much in hopes to keep as much suds off it as possible. At times there were a few traces of the bitter tasting soap, but not enough to make him stop. He didn’t do it often, but he figured Goten deserved a reward for his efforts. Also, well, stimulus aside, there was just something so enticing about having the confident, rugged, sexual deviant that was Goten writhing under _his_ control.

Maybe Trunks was a bit of a pervert too. Only a little bit though.

Moments later—while Goten was still panting and his eyes were still glazed—Trunks had maneuvered so his back was against his chest, and his legs straddled over his. Trunks didn’t start out slow—he hardly ever did when he was on top. He rode himself on Goten fast, his hands nearly knocking over the candles as he braced himself. It was unreal how good it felt to have Goten inside of him. If he wasn’t 100% certain it would only inflate the Son’s ego (and if it wasn’t fucking embarrassing), he might have told him that.

Goten’s testosteronic vigor was soon quickly recovered, and his hands found themselves on Trunks hips, coaxing his body into even more zeal and passion. Not that Trunks minded—he liked Goten just as much, if not more, this way. He also kept this to himself, because of, you know, the ego thing.  

Goten’s hands didn’t stay there on his hips of course—he’d always been handsy. They were all over—kneading his waist; skimming his abs; pawing his chest. Then they were hugging him, pulling his body close so his lips could replace them, his tongue assaulting all of Trunks’ sensitive parts like they were the sweetest of candy.

Trunks didn’t try to be quiet, especially not with all the pleasurable factors attacking his body all at once. He definitely wasn’t quiet when he came, Goten’s name ripping from his throat and ringing about the walls of the little room before his body slumped against his equally spent partner.

Moments went by as he let Goten hold him while he sipped at his nearly forgotten wine, most of them spent with Trunks absently wondering if he was willing to wash his still dry hair in water that had semen floating in it. He quickly decided that it wasn’t important, and when the silence grew too great, he found himself asking the question that had been bugging him since that day in the toy shop.

“Goten, how many kids do you want?”

“Kids?”

Trunks picked up a petal and rolled it between his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Hmm,” Goten hummed in thought before finally: “Three.”

Trunks turned his head to look up at him. That wasn’t exactly the number he had been hoping to hear, but it was still lower than expected. “Why three?”

Goten smiled down at him. “I figured you wouldn’t appreciate if I said four.”

Trunks paled. Four was pretty close to seven.

“How many do you want?” Goten asked. “And please don’t say none.”

That _had_ been the first response that popped in his mind. “One, I guess.” Even _that_ seemed like a lot.

Goten laughed. “You really hate kids, don’t you?” he said, and there was absolutely no accusation in his tone but Trunks felt it regardless.

Trunks sighed. “It’s not that I hate them, I just... they’re a lot of work, you know? Like you’ve got to feed them and put their clothes on for them and they’re always walking around with snot on their faces and sticky hands and that’s really gross. And yeah, they’re cute but they’re also really annoying too. I mean, their brains are like, irritatingly simplistic. Like, I might not mind an older child I could have a real conversation with, but if I had to talk to about dinosaurs or barbies all day my head would honestly probably explode. And they’re always _there_! I mean, when I get sick of Bra, I can just pass her back to my mother or father. I don’t have to lose sleep when she decides she’s not tired yet, or take care of her when she’s sick, or yell at her when she misbehaves like my parents do.”

Trunks sighed and curled deeper into Goten’s chest because everything he was afraid of made so much sense now, and it was _hard_ to say, but he'd say it anyway. “If she was my kid, _I_ would be the one everyone was passing her back to. She would be _my_ responsibility, and that’s... that’s kind of scary, don’t you think?”

Goten hummed, tilting his head like he was thinking of his answer before finally giving it. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous too. I think everyone is worried about being a good parent one day. But it’s not a bad kind of scary. It's more like when we fought Buu together, or when I asked you to marry me and part of me thought you might say no.”

Trunks gives him an incredulous look. “How in the hell are those not ‘bad kinds’ of scary?”

Goten stared at him, his expression looking almost confused by the question. “Because I had you with me, obviously. If we’re together then everything always works out. Even if we’d lost the fight or you said no, I knew you’d always be with me. Why should I be afraid of being a dad if you’re going to be a dad right beside me?”

Trunks blinked. Then, “huh.”

“Yeah,” Goten grinned at him. “Huh.”

Trunks thought for a moment. It was a long moment— long enough for him to take a sip of his wine and learn that the petal in his hand was deeper in color than the rest and had a tiny tear in it. Minutes passed by—minutes that he could have let their conversation end, and Goten seemed perfectly content with that.

Still, he finally found himself saying with only a little bit of reluctance, “How about two... and we will _maybe_ visit the topic of another one at a much later date.”

The look Goten gave him had started out shocked, but quickly morphed into a smile so dazzlingly bright that Trunks had to look away lest it start blinding him, feeling oddly embarrassed. He went back to contemplating his petal, all while wondering about toy boxes, and diapers, and a sticky-faced child with lavender hair and dark eyes calling him Dad.

It wasn’t a horrible thought, all things considered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This universe is complete, and I currently and probably never will have any plans to continue once this story is finished. Their imaginary child's features aside, how exactly they have their future children is up to the reader’s interpretation.


	12. Love

#12- Love

Word Count: 850

* * *

 

“I swear to the gods I am going to kill the both of you _so hard_ ,” Trunks growled down at two of his closest friends, who were both carrying the chair he was currently tied too. Did he mention he was also blindfolded? Well he is, and that’s because two of his closest friends are dicks.

“Trust me, babe,” Cayon said as his chair was lowered back on the ground. “You’ll be thanking me _so hard_ once this night is over.”

“I just want it to go on record that I had no parts in this,” Tyrese said, which prompted many calls of good-natured protest from the other party-goers. Those protests turned into cheers however, and Trunks could only guess that meant his ‘entertainment had arrived.

His entertainment—he learned once his blindfold was removed—was a man in approximately half of a police uniform. A _big_ man, who was tall, with rippling, beefy muscles, and thick facial hair—the exact body type that Trunks was _not_ into.

So, he found himself laughing, his laughter barely heard over the sound of everyone else’s.

The guy did not seem to be offended, but rather continued his erotic dance, to which Trunks joined in on. It was around that time that he’d received a text message from Erana, consisting of an image of a short, pale, extraordinarily skinny twink who had apparently been Goten’s contrasting dancer, who was just as equally not his type.

He laughed some more, told the girl that for the time-being, Goten didn’t exist to him, and promptly went back to partying. He missed her and wished that she could have come (as did he miss Marron, but alas, she was a young one), but it was quite obvious that Goten connected with her way better than he did. Not that he minded, it just really sucked when you and your significant other not only had the same friends, but few of them at that. If he were to be completely honest, half of the people at this party tonight were good acquaintances at best.

He had Cayon and Tyrese though, and he decided that they were all he really needed. And as annoyed as he’d been at the two of them, he decided to get over it once they both put on their own shows of sensual body movement for him.

“What in the hell is this,” Tyrese questioned, holding up a rather dangerous looking contraption, to which Trunks snatched away from him.

The contraption was a drinking device, A.K.A, the Penis Pecker Dong Bong; A.K.A a funnel that connected to a long tube that ended with a plastic spout in the shape of a penis; A.K.A: “My lover for tonight.”

Cayon rolled his eyes. “Nothing good ever happens when you drink, sweetheart.”

“Come on, Cayon, it’s my last official night of freedom! And besides, I’m not seventeen anymore. I’d like to think I can handle a bit of alcohol.”

He did end up getting drunk though—the type of drunk where he _knew_ he was drunk but was drunk enough not to care—but he didn’t worry so much. While his hangover would probably be close to deadly, the wedding was in the evening, so he had a whole day to recover. Despite Goten’s protests, Trunks trusted Cayon. He trusted his friend enough to know that he would not do anything stupid, and nothing stupid would happen to him.

The last memory he had was of Cayon half-carrying him, half-dragging him down a too brightly-lit hallway. He remembers entering a room, being dropped on a bed, his shoes and jacket being removed, and a waste basket being dropped next to the bed. He remembers the flash of Cayon snapping a picture that Trunks probably would not like very much at all come morning, a heavy hand ruffling his hair while bidding him goodnight, and the click of the door being shut.

Maybe Cayon thought he was already asleep and didn't notice the kiss that was laid on the top of his head just before his exit, but he did, and found himself smiling until he fell asleep for real.

XXX

“Good _moooorning_ , princess.”

“Fuck. Yourself.” Trunks pulled the covers up over his head.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tyrese said, ripping back the covers. “It’s almost noon, and you, my friend, need to get ready. Come on, Cayon, we need to get his ass in the shower.”

It took about an hour or so before Trunks’ headache subsided. It was even more hours later when he found himself completely dressed and prepared to go, only waiting for the stylist to finish his hair. He was less irritated now, mostly filled now with nerves and anxiety, but also excitement and anticipation.

He was ready. He was definitely ready.

Meanwhile, there was a knock at the hotel door. Cayon moved to answer it, and was met with Gohan, who was looking very pale and very panicked.

“What is it,” Cayon asked his voice dropping down to a whisper.

“I... I can’t find Goten.”

Cayon blinked. Then blinked some more. Then: “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys catch the theme? She was subtle, but she was there.


	13. Candy

#13- Candy

Word Count: 1137

* * *

 

“Well, hon, you don’t seem to have a fever,” the school nurse said, removing the thermometer from his mouth and disposing of the cover.

“My head still really hurts.”

“Alright then, how about you lie down for a moment and see if that makes you feel better?”

Trunks nodded and walked to the separate room which housed the three cots, making sure to look as miserable as possible as he went. He was lying of course, and he almost felt guilty, but he just couldn’t deal with the _girls_ anymore.

Valentine’s Day was one of the worst days of the year in his opinion. Ever since he had walked into homeroom, he’d been bombarded non-stop with frilly packages of chocolate from girls of all grade levels. Letters of secret love and shouted confessions accompanied the confections, so much so that his fingers were numb from constantly opening folded pages and his throbbing eardrums could still distantly hear the words ‘I love you’...

His breaking point, however, had been one particularly bold girl who had cornered him at his locker, and then led him underneath the secluded staircase and abruptly guided his hand under her skirt.

Perhaps his tall tale of unhealthiness wasn’t such a lie after all. He still felt queasy just thinking about it. Hence why he needed to hide out here, at least until lunchtime was over. If he went to the cafeteria, he would be at the mercy of nearly the entire school’s female population, and there was no telling what would happen to him then. He simply could not deal with that many girls at once.

Girls weren’t all bad he supposed. There was a softness about them that he supposed he could appreciate, and he could distinguish which ones were pretty and which were not, and he could even kiss them with no problem and even experience a flutter of feeling when he did. It was everything _passed_ that that made his stomach churn and his chest twist.

Trunks curled up on the cot. It just didn’t make sense. Why was he so weird? He had girls literally _throwing_ themselves at him. He was living every fourteen-year-old boy’s dream. Every other guy would have been ecstatic had they been in his position, so why wasn’t he? What was wrong with him?

Of course, he knew of a word that could possibly be associated with his ‘problem’, but he was perfectly content with ignoring it. Ignoring something long enough would eventually have to make it go away, right? There was simply no way he could allow himself to even _think_ of himself that way. He can admit that he was weird, but he wasn’t _that_ weird.

He groaned in despair. Why can’t this day be over already?

His inner brooding was interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Goten was barely thirteen, still a little immature to be serious about girls, but it was quite clear that he liked them, and it was even more obvious that the older he got, the more his _like_ for them would grow. Despite Goten's lingering childlike innocence, slowly fading baby face, and shocking naivety, his whole being practically screamed ‘future pervert’.

And if Trunks was being completely honest, he also screamed ‘future romantic’.

It’s _weird_ that he thinks that. Why would he think something like that?!

“How are you feeling?” Goten asked, pressing his hand against Trunks’ forehead.

Trunks batted it away. “Fine.”

Goten watched him for a second, before taking a seat at the foot of the cot. “Those girls sure are hounding you like crazy, huh?”

Trunks hadn’t really been looking, but he noticed the traces of pink lipstick on the collar of Goten’s shirt. It seemed that Goten had some girls chasing after him too. The owner of the lipstick was probably his “girlfriend” by now.

So, even Goten was normal.

“Hey, are you okay?” his best friend asked, looking so concerned about him that guilt brewed in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. This wasn’t something he could talk to Goten about. Trunks is smart; he'll certainly figure out a proper solution to his ‘girl problem’. There was no need for his best friend to know how weird he was.

“Liar,” Goten said, before cheerfully digging around in his bag. “Good thing I came prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“Yup. I know how you get on Valentine’s Day, so I asked myself, ‘what better way to cheer Trunks up than by putting holes in his teeth?’ Of course, getting chocolates from another guy on Valentine’s Day is a little, _you know_ , soooo...”

Upon looking down, Trunks was met with a clear box filled with assorted candies. There were some name brand things, but most were random little squares or circles that looked chewy, or crunchy, or sparkled with a layer of sugar.

(He also saw some little hearts that said things like “ _XOXO_ ” or “ _KISS ME_ ” but he figured the best course of action would be to pretend he hadn’t.)

He felt his sadness lift immediately. He thanked Goten, and promptly began to stuff his face. It was nice having such a thoughtful friend.

Or it was, until he felt lips press against his jaw.

He jerked back, his face immediately heating up. “H-Hey!”

“What?” Goten said, clearly amused but noticeably flushed as well. Trunks wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. “Everyone should have at least _one_ kiss on Valentine’s Day. And you just look _so cute_ when you’re giving yourself diabetes.”

Trunks huffed, and he definitely did _not_ feel a flutter in his chest at being called such a thing. “At least I don't still have baby fat.”

“I-I don't have baby fat!” Goten squawked, covering his cheeks self-consciously.

“Your whole face is baby fat, accept it.” Trunks rolled his eyes and took another mouthful. “You are unrealistically annoying.”

Goten batted his eyes. “You love me, though.”

“Go be gay somewhere else.” That word didn’t seem so taboo when he was with Goten.

Goten laughs, and he laughs too, even though for some reason, his skin where the lips were laid was still tingling.

Very weird, but he can ignore that. He can also ignore the odd twinge he felt in his chest as he ate the little candies with “ _BE MINE”_ and “ _I LOVE YOU_ ” printed on them.  

Less than a decade later, he'll think back on that moment, and realize that three years of dancing around each other, followed by a whole year of testing waters the two of them never thought they'd test together, and arguments, and jealousy, and quickly growing and soon undeniable feelings, then followed by two years of planning for many years ahead, and anxieties and giddiness and so much _love_ , all truly started right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the over-exaggerated behavior of the mentioned girls in this drabble off the way background girls act in shoujo animes.


	14. Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! Thanks for riding this roller coaster with me!

#14- Valentine’s Day

Word Count: 5111 (ending off with a bang)

* * *

 

Cayon was unhappy, and that was putting it considerably lightly.

No one could blame him for being upset, really. Anyone would be upset if their best friend was marrying a good-for-nothing boob of a man (and Cayon laughed at the term ‘man’), who then had the _audacity_ to walk out on the most amazing person to have ever graced this undeserving Earth with his presence. Anyone would be upset if they also weren’t very fond of the good-for-nothing boob, and yet was the only one able to find him because it was a secret that the boob was gone in the first place, and his own brother had no idea where the said boob could be.

Of course, Cayon wasn’t born yesterday, and was very much aware that Gohan was being quite the liar. Cayon knew that if Gohan wanted to, he could find his younger brother in seconds, and be by his side in an equal amount of time. No, Cayon understood completely that Gohan's “I can't find Goten” really meant “I have no idea what to say to him, so you go instead”.

It wasn’t the best solution that the supposedly intelligent man had come up with, but to be fair, Gohan, even after all this time, did not know how he and Goten truly felt about each other. He was under the impression that they were close friends, which is about the farthest thing from the truth. In any case, there was no other option so he went. Cayon did feel a bit bad for Gohan, all things considered. It must quite saddening to not only lose sight of his younger brother on the day of his wedding, but also having no idea what words to say to bring him back.

Cayon has known him for years, but in all honesty, he didn’t _know_ Goten all that well. Their shared insults and put-downs and petty arguments hardly constituted as “bonding”. Pretty much everything he knew about Goten came from Trunks’ lovingly biased, word-of-mouth descriptions. Even still, it was enough for him to know exactly where he was. Goten was enamored by urban life, but he would always be most comfortable around nature, and he’d be even _more_ comfortable if he went to a place that was more special to him; a place that held significance to him.

That place was the lake just by his house. It was the same lake where he’d celebrated his 17th birthday, and the one he’d apparently fallen into during that one crazy blizzard, and the place that he and Trunks went to when they were visiting his mother’s house and wanted some time alone. There was no doubt that he was there, and all Cayon had to do was bring him back.

Cayon considered himself an honest man, and will admit that he did not really want too, but it wasn’t about what he wanted.

It took him nearly half an hour to reach his destination. From his descending window he could see Goten exactly where he knew he’d be. His hair was still a bit of a cringe-worthy mess, but it was obvious that someone had attempted to tame it. Fortunately, he was completely dressed in his immaculate black tuxedo. He looked good, even if the seat of his trousers were no doubt dirty from sitting against the gritty dock.  

Cayon felt his brow twitched.

Undeterred, but thoroughly annoyed, he landed the air vehicle. He jumped from the doorway and stomped forward until he stood just behind the silent Son. Goten gave no indication that he noticed.

“I am going to give you fifteen seconds.”

Goten was silent for about four seconds. Then, “I can’t do this.” His voice was odd, but predictably broken.

A few more moments passed. “I never should have asked him... gods I’m an _idiot_.”

Cayon inspected his nails. “You’re running out of seconds.”

“Why are you here?” Goten asked. He was glaring up at him, but his tone was more miserable than irritated.

“I’m here to tell you to stop bullshitting around,” Cayon said, peering down at his watch. “If you haven’t noticed, we don’t exactly have an endless amount of time here. Just tell me what your apparently soul-crushing crisis is so I know what I have to work with.”

Goten turned back to the lake, curling his legs tighter against his chest. “You’re probably ecstatic right now. You can finally have Trunks all to yourself.”

Cayon quirked his brow. “Yes, certainly Trunks would love that. In fact, he probably wants nothing more! I’m sure he’d gladly set aside his pride and dignity so that he can be passed around like a bottle of _Crown Royal_.”

Goten’s head shot up. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did, though. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you basically just compared him to a whore. He’d be quite offended.”

Goten winced. “Stop it. You know that’s not what I meant. I just... I’ve fucked up, and now you can have that chance I robbed you of. We all know _you_ were the right choice.”

The thought passes through his head, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Had Trunks wanted him, he might have entertained it, but Trunks doesn’t, so he won’t. His role is the conflict inspiring character in their romantic drama—nothing less and certainly nothing more.

“Last time I checked, I was just some asshole who wanted to fuck him,” he said, crossing his arms.

“It seems I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.”

Cayon says nothing. They really are running out of time, but he can be patient.

Sure enough, Goten starts speaking, his voice distant, as if he were talking to himself instead of his long time rival. “It hit me the other day. We were in the bath and Trunks said something about kids. I was so excited when he said he wanted them too. I love kids. I’ve always loved kids. I’ve had fantasies about how many I’d have and what they’d look like, and I’ve had their names picked out since I was a kid myself. The fact that Trunks wanted them too made me _happy_.”

Goten buried his head in his hands, his fingers carding through his hair. “But then... then I _wasn’t_ happy. I was _freaking_ out. I was freaking out because Trunks _wasn’t_ fighting me anymore. He wasn’t fighting me about _anything_ , anymore. He’s been so... so anxious about this whole thing, and I guess his anxiety made it... less real to me? Or maybe like this whole thing wasn’t as serious as really is, because Trunks knows how to be serious and he wouldn’t act that way if it _was_ serious. But then suddenly he wasn’t anxious anymore, he was _ready_. I’ve been waiting for him to finally meet me halfway, and now that he’s there I realize that I never _was_.”

Goten’s body had curled in on itself, his fists clenching as the words spilled from him like an open floodgate. “I’m nineteen. I’m supposed to be partying and failing classes and having flings. I’m not supposed to be getting rings cut, or debating whether I want to change my last name or not, or writing my vows. I don’t have a real job, I’m barely educated...  just what am I exactly? Who the hell do I think I am? Did I really think I could pull this off? Does Trunks really think he can pull this off? What makes him so sure? He’s so smart and yet he really thinks we can get married? This was a stupid idea. I’m stupid for bringing it up and he’s stupid for agreeing to it and—”

Cayon isn’t quite sure what else Goten had been about to say because he suddenly saw red. His body was on auto-pilot as he reached out and knotted a hand in Goten’s hair. He yanked his head to the side and struck his fist out. The punch landed hard on his face, knocking his body aside, no doubt further dirtying his suit.

He vaguely recalls that twice he had been dealt the same treatment, and he feels a sense of satisfaction. Goten's body was too resilient to bruise, but not so much that he wouldn't feel it. Cayon felt satisfied with that as well.

The Son is rightfully stunned, but Cayon give him no chance to recover. He grips Goten’s tie, yanking him forward until their noses are pressed together. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. How dare you? How _dare_ you? You dare call him stupid, when he did nothing but love you, even when your sorry ass didn’t deserve it? You’re such an ungrateful brat! The gods have _blessed_ you, and not only do you want to waste it, but also hurt the person who did nothing to deserve it? What is wrong with you?!”

Goten looked away, and Cayon jostled the tie to get the attention back.

“So, what’s your plan? Say ‘to hell with Trunks’ and leave him stranded on the altar without so much as a word? Then what, get hopelessly drunk at your parties that are apparently so important to you and begin your never-ending line of flings with people whose names you’ll never remember and who won’t give a damn about you, while the one person to ever genuinely care about you wonders where it all went wrong? Is that what you want?”

“No,” he said, his voice small.

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know,” his voice was breaking.

“Wrong answer. _What do you want_?”

“I don’t know!” Goten tried to pull away, but Cayon held strong.

“You sure chose a very _convenient_ time to be indecisive,” Cayon snarled sarcastically. “This whole time you seemed absolutely content with the picture-perfect future the two of you were planning together, but once it’s finally happening you want to tuck tail and run? You call me an asshole and yet you don’t even have the balls to say it to his face! What was the point then? Was this really all just a game? You think you can drag the one most important person to me around like an old blanket and drop him when you don’t want him anymore and get away with it? Is that what this is?! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

“I’m _scared_ ,” Goten sobbed, and Cayon faltered.

Goten drops his head, and Cayon lets him. shuddering, and for a moment, Cayon thinks he might actually be crying.

“I’m strong, but not so much that it really matters. I’m not smart like you guys are, I’m an _idiot_. I’m childish, and annoying, and I can’t do anything right, and the only things I _can_ do right are meaningless. I mooch off of him and make him dumb himself down just to talk to me, and I always, _always_ get in his way.”

Goten made a noise that almost sounded like a humorless laugh but lacked the conviction to make it so. “I should have listened to you; you’ve been right since the beginning. I’m an ungrateful brat. I get the one thing I’ve always wanted but I’m not strong enough to keep it. I’m never going to be enough for him. Why would I marry him if I can’t keep him happy? Maybe if I had taken your advice, he wouldn’t have wasted his time on me and found what he needed in _you_.”

Cayon remembers falling in love with him. It was no special defining moment, just waking up one day and realizing that Trunks meant everything to him. He remembers the elation he’d feel when Trunks would smile at him, and the pain he felt every time he said Goten’s name. Trunks’ love for his true best friend had been obvious long before he admitted it, and it hurt like no one’s business watching as they came together. He wondered about the ‘what ifs’, all the time. He wondered what would have happened had it been Cayon in his life first, instead of Goten. Would it have mattered? What if Goten never existed in the first place? Would Trunks have wanted him then?

He remembers the one time Trunks _did_ want him, even though he really hadn’t. He’d had a bit too much to drink that night of the New Year’s Eve party, he’ll admit, but that hadn’t been the only reason he had lost his carefully fabricated control. He’s not sure why he faltered, he’s normally stronger than that, but the need in Trunks’ eyes—the _desperation_ , it was all too much. He remembers how perfect Trunks seemed underneath his touch, even when he knew that Trunks wasn’t seeing his brown eyes, but black ones; even when he knew Trunks wasn’t kissing his tanned lips, but pale ones; even when he knew it wasn’t ‘Cayon’ he was moaning, but another name entirely.

Goten’s intervention had been a curse and blessing all wrapped in one.

There is no fondness when he recalls that night. He wishes he didn’t remember it at all. It was wrong, he knows that now. It was so wrong what he did.

Trunks had forgiven him, told him that he did not even care, that it was okay. It wasn’t okay, Cayon knew. Trunks was not angry but that did not mean that a line had not been crossed, that Cayon was edging into dangerous territory that would not be so easily brushed aside.

Cayon liked to think that he was not the same person he was two years ago. Scratch that, he _knew_ he wasn’t, because he promised himself that he wouldn’t be. There had been no punishment, so Cayon gave himself an ultimatum. He would be better. He couldn’t be the lover that Trunks wanted, so he would be the friend that Trunks _deserved_ to have.

Goten looked up at him then, his eyes desperate in an entirely different way than Trunks’ had been that night. “What do I do? How do I make him keep loving me?”

_‘I don’t know, I never got him to love me at all.’_

“Well,” Cayon said, his voice as even as he could make it, “you could maybe start by not running out on your wedding for stupid reasons.”

Goten was watching him in complete seriousness, as if he truly believed Cayon had the answers.

He shook his head. “If you’re looking for someone to make you feel better, then sorry, but I’m not that guy. I genuinely believe everything you just said about yourself. I’d almost say I hate you, but that spot is reserved for Akeno, so I’ll have to settle for a strong dislike. As far as I’m concerned, there are absolutely no good qualities about you, and yet somehow the universe has graced you with everything you could ever want. You’re the exact type of person I despise.”

Cayon cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I will admit that you have _one_ good quality.”

Goten furrowed his brow in question.

Cayon sighed. These words were hard, and he didn’t want to say them, but for Trunks’ sake, he would. “You’re honest in your feelings. When you hate something, you hate it, and when you love something, you love it with all your heart. I can’t even question whether you love Trunks or not, because it’s so real I can almost feel it myself. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.”

He looked directly into those dark eyes. He tried, but he couldn’t see the black magic, or the onyx gems, or the midnight ocean, or the starry night sky that Trunks oh so dramatically insisted was there. “That’s what I don’t understand. How could you love Trunks this much, and yet have this much doubt? Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared? All of these doubts that you’re having, have you ever thought that Trunks might be having the same ones, too? Trunks may be ready, but that doesn’t make him any less terrified.”

“Then why,” Goten asks, his voice little more than a mumble. “Why does he do it if he’s so afraid?”

“Because he loves you,” Cayon said, despite the sharp hurt he felt in his chest. “Why else would he do it? He’s scared too, but he’s willing to take the risk simply because he loves you and wants to be with you. He doesn’t know if it’ll work out, or if you’ll be just as in love with him as you are today, fifty-years from now. He doesn’t know anything, but he’s going to try. I imagine you proposed to him for the very same reason. You love him, and at one point, you were willing to take the chance too.”

Goten didn’t say anything.

“Well, what are you thinking now? You may have thought that before, but it’s entirely possible to change your mind, you know. Are you going to take the risk, or are you going to give up? Do you want to be with him, or not?”

“I... I want to be with him,” Goten said, his eyes on the wooden dock beneath them, his voice barely above a mumble. “I love him. I love him _so_ much. I don’t want... I want to take the risk.”

 “No half-assed feelings,” Cayon warned with a hard frown. “You’ve got to mean it. I could drag you along that aisle and threaten you up and down until you say, ‘I do’, but you know it will all be pointless if you don’t mean it. You don’t need to be honest with me; be honest with _yourself_. Are you willing to take the risk, or are you giving up?”

Goten snapped his head up, and Cayon was almost moved by the determination and truth in his eyes. For just a moment, Cayon thought he could see the glimmer of the midnight sky. “I want to take the risk. I _have_ to.”

Cayon bowed his head and smiled, satisfied and melancholy all at once. “Splendid choice, Son-shine. It wouldn’t have hurt to come to it a little sooner though.”

“Why? How much time do we have?”

Cayon looked at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

“T-Ten _minutes_!” Goten sprang to his feet, cursing all the way. Cayon didn’t have time to be properly amused, though, because suddenly his feet were no longer on the ground and his abdomen was nestled against Goten’s shoulder and both of them were in the air.

XXX

“I hate you,” Cayon said honestly, smoothing out Goten’s suit as they speed-walked. “I hate you so much.”

“But I love you, though,” the Son countered. “You just saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. How could I _not_ love you?”

“Dammit, Goten, you’ve got fucking _bugs_ in your hair,” Cayon complained, desperately picking them out.

Goten suddenly stopped walking. To Cayon’s questioning gaze, he said fondly, “You called by my actual name.”

Cayon blinked, and then gave him a very hard glare.

“ _Goten_!” suddenly, a shrill cry broke through the air, just before said Son was slapped soundly upside the head.

“ _Ow_! Mom...”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me!” Chi-Chi whisper shouted, earning Goten giggles from his niece and sister-in-law, and a pitying look from his father. “Do you have any idea how _late_ you are?! You were supposed to walk down the aisle _ages ago_!”

Goten had the grace to look ashamed, just as Chi-Chi noticed Cayon.

“Cayon, thank goodness!” She immediately started shoving towards the opened doors. “It’s time for the best men to walk. Go, hurry!”

Cayon nearly stumbled from her freakishly strong shove. He looked back at Goten, who was getting an imaginary speck of dirt cleaned off his cheek by his mother’s saliva-coated finger, gave him a thumbs-up. He then shared a look with Gohan, who was offering him a relieved and grateful smile, before they both walked in side-by-side. He could see Trunks there, all grins and confidence, and if Cayon hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed Trunks’ anxious trembling—nervous and yet so undeniably excited. Cayon didn’t have a word for how the sight made him feel, but it was definitely good.

He wondered what excuse Gohan came up with to explain Goten’s lateness. Cayon prayed it was a good one. Trunks was happy and shouldn’t have to be burdened on his big day.

Cayon had just barely taken his spot when the young girls entered soon after. The need for a flower girl wasn’t necessary for their ceremony, but Bra had insisted she have a part in her big brother’s wedding, bride-less or not. She was practically skipping as she tossed down handfuls of flower petals, humming a tune as the guests awed at her dress and general adorableness. Pan received her own awes as well in her handsome suit that matched the other girl’s dress, walking more carefully with her pillow holding two very bright and precious rings.

His attention was taken off the kids however, and he abruptly had to fight the urge to slap his own forehead. It seemed that this wedding _did_ , in fact, have bride. That bride came in the form of Goten, who had his arm hooked around a slightly-confused Goku’s. The two Sons stepped among the petals, the younger oozing with confidence that only someone of his idiocy could maintain.

The guests were unsure if they should laugh or not (given that it was a wedding and all), before remembering just who Goten was, and opting for amused applause. Trunks’ smile grew until it was blinding, and even though it wasn’t directed at him, Cayon found himself filling with joy at the sight of it.

It seemed that the Goten who had been so lost and broken before was gone. His smile was wide, and the emotion in his eyes shone like a beacon, daring anyone to deny their authenticity. When he spoke his vows, they were surprisingly low, as if he truly meant for them to only be heard by Trunks alone. He slid the twinkling ring on with care, as if Trunks’ finger would break if he wasn’t careful. He kissed Trunks before the words of permission were even finished, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him off his feet. They paused for a moment to kiss their mothers (who were both crying), before hurrying off in their exit.

Through it all, Goten’s eyes never left Trunks, looking as him like he was his whole world. He probably was.

Cayon was happy. He’d never been happier, and yet he still felt his eyes sting.

It was over.

The theme of their wedding was red, and the deep color looked so beautiful in the evening. He held strong through the reception: he talked with his older brother, Sharpner, and played with his nieces, and maintained his reputation as a good-for-nothing flirt. He didn’t mind, though. There was only one person whose opinion mattered, and that person was lost to him forever.

Not that that was new. He had been lost to him since the day they met, but he supposed that now there was more of a finality to it.

It was okay though. He’d been okay yesterday, and he’d be okay tomorrow.

He was okay watching them, even. They swayed together on the dancefloor, as if they were the only ones there. The setting sun shined gracefully on their happy faces, their lips whispering words only meant for each other’s ears. Trunks gripped their hands to their chests. Goten leaned in and kissed him.

They may have come to some sort of truce, but all Goten would ever see him as was an asshole who only wanted to screw his lover. Maybe it was better that way.

All Trunks would ever see him as was the best friend he could turn to whenever he needed and would always be there for him. Cayon could live with that.

Maybe one day, if he tried hard enough, the burning devotion he felt towards Trunks would fade.

Someday, but not today.

_‘I love you. I love you so much, so please, be happy.’_

It was when he turned away from the couple that he noticed the man in the corner. He was an older man, perhaps in his late-twenties or early thirties, and very handsome. His build was lean, his skin was very dark, as were his eyes, and his hair was cut close to his head. There was a mature, serious air about him. He was undeniably an adult living with purpose and Cayon found himself immediately intrigued. It wasn’t often that he was genuinely interested in someone right off the bat.

Upon walking over, he began to recognize the man. They’d never spoken, but he was suddenly aware that this man was the assistant that Trunks seemed to like so much.

Sitting down next to the man, he held up his phone and said with genuine distress, “Could you help me? I think there is something wrong with my phone.”

“What is the problem?” The deep timber of his accented voice sent shivers down Cayon’s spine.

“It doesn’t have your number in it.”

The man was confused for a moment, before a very unprofessional laugh burst from him, and Cayon was sent reeling from how delightful it sounded.

“I believe that since I went through the trouble of making you laugh, you could at _least_ tell me your name.”

The man regarded him for a moment. Then, with a raised but undeniably intrigued brow, he said, “You are very bold. I am Zareh.”

Cayon smiled. “That’s a _handsome_ name.”

XXX

Goten couldn’t get enough.

He was quite sure that he’d marked every inch of Trunks’ body. He couldn’t help it though, it was, in fact, a very beautiful body.

“I love you,” he said against Trunks’ lips.

Then against his jaw: “I love you.”

In Trunks’ ear, down his neck, against his collarbone: “I love you... I love you... I love you.”

Trunks couldn’t talk much even if he wanted to—he was too lost in his moaning. Goten didn’t mind. He was speaking enough for the both of them.

He kept up his mantra, even when they were finished, and he was trying to catch his breath. “I love you... I love you... I love you.”

“I know, you don’t have to tell me every other second.” Trunks said, petting his hair.

He did, though. He had to because Trunks _thought_ he knew, but he didn’t really know. He would never know just how much Goten loved him.

He turned his eyes towards the window, focusing them on the glittering Eiffel Tower. Paris would always be a special place for them. It was only right for them to honeymoon there.

“I love you,” Goten said against Trunks’ shoulder. He could still taste the chocolate he’d licked from there earlier. What could possibly be better than Parisian chocolate on Valentine’s Day?

Parisian chocolate on Trunks skin on Valentine’s Day, of course.

“ _Goten_.”

“Come on, how else am I going to make it up to you?” Goten moaned dramatically. “I was late for our wedding! My baby was waiting for me all alone—all apologies are meaningless!”

Trunks rolled his eyes.

Goten poked his shoulder. “Really, though, you’re not mad at me, are you? You haven’t said anything.”

Trunks sighed, stretching his arms. “You think I’d let you defile me in this bed even though I’ve just had the most tiring day of my life and would like nothing more than to sleep until next year if I was mad?”

Goten smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry though. I just got... sidetracked, I guess.”

Trunks turned on his side to face him, frowning. “You all must think I’m an idiot. I know you left.”

Goten felt his heart drop and his blood run cold.

“How... how did you...”

“Didn’t I just say I’m not an idiot?”

Goten could hardly hear him. He was starting to feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Alright.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked, his eyes pricking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, I heard you.”

Goten was crying now, hot tears dripping down his face, his body shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you cry,” Trunks said, his fingers stroking his cheeks. “Real tears, not those silly ones like when you’re watching some cliché movie where the dog dies at the end.”

“I’m sorry!” Goten sobbed. “Please f-forgive me! Oh g-gods, I’m s-so sorry!”

“I know, Goten. I know.”

Trunks held him as he cried, rubbing his hand up and down his back. He didn’t say anything to Goten’s broken apologies; the only time he spoke was when he coached Goten into relaxing when his sobs turned into violent coughs. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried this hard.

Goten did calm down eventually though, his weeping falling into sniffles, until there was nothing left but a headache. Trunks busied himself with wiping his chest off with his discarded t-shirt, and if he was disgusted by the sticky mess on his skin, he didn’t comment on it.

“Are you okay now?” Trunks asked, wiping the t-shirt against Goten’s damp face.

He nodded, thoroughly embarrassed, but glad that the weight on his chest was lifted.

Trunks watched him for a moment, petting Goten’s hair once again. They were silent for so long that Goten almost found himself asleep. He could hear Trunks’ voice though, soft but sure.

“You don’t have to be sorry, because I wasn’t worried. I didn’t have any reason to be. I figured that after two years of fabricated calmness, your ‘freak out’ moment would be all big and dramatic. I knew that once you were over it, you’d come running right back. I hate to say it but you’re a little predictable.”

Trunks kissed him, before snuggling up against him. “You couldn’t leave me even if you wanted too.”

Goten smiled, because he was right. “I love you, babe.”

“I figured you did, but it’s nice to hear. I love you too. With that out of the way, you may now leave me alone and go to sleep. Have sugary dreams and all that.”

Goten grinned cheekily. “Who needs sugary dreams when I’ve already got such a _saccharine_ reality?”

“Ditto to that. Now, go to sleep before I slap the mess out of you.”

“I think you’ve been watching too much ‘ _Love and Hip Hop’_ ,” Goten said, but did as he was told, and his dreams were almost as sweet as the world he had wrapped up in his arms.

**_ THE END _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus is the end of this universe. I hope you all enjoyed!


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